


Our Favorite Timmers

by Capucine



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Animated)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Child Neglect, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Gen, Past Child Abuse, de-aged tim drake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 56,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capucine/pseuds/Capucine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tim is de-aged to about the age of five, Jason is the one who rescues him and brings him back to the manor. However, his family may find it a little shocking to discover what he was actually like at that age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be starting another story, but... *shrug* I quite like this idea, though I'm pretty sure it's been done. I hope y'all like it! I have such ideas for this story.

It wasn't often that Jason got to catch the tail-end of one of Tim's battles. Well, that wasn't entirely true; he did sort of keep tabs on good ol Timmers the Replacement. Before, it had been so he could kill him. But after they got to a place where they got along, it had been out of... well, obviously not _worry_ , he just liked to know what Tim was up to.

He kept similar tabs on Steph, Cass, Dick, and even Damian. Sometimes Babs, but she was far too clever to allow him to most of the time.

Hell, most of them had probably figured it out by now and said nothing.

But, back to the matter at hand: Tim was fighting a villain. Ha, villain, like they were characters in a book. In books, you knew who the villain was, most of the time. Jason wasn't sure if he'd qualify as a villain or a hero in a book, though he was pretty sure Tim fell on the hero side of the equation. If things were as simple as in your average book, of course, which they weren't.

Jason watched, gun cocked just in case, but knowing Tim could, and probably would, hold his own. He didn't need to know Jason looked out for him, after all.

Yeah, there went Tim's fist into the guy's nose, ouch, blood everywhere, lovely. There went his foot into the guy's gut; the man nearly heaved.

It looked, for a moment, like it was over. Handcuffs and a call to the police, then back on patrol or head home.

But that was when Jason saw the man pull a weapon he didn't recognize, and as he jumped to his feet, the thing zapped Tim.

Instantly, the suit was lying in a pile on the ground.

Jason could have screamed, had he been the hysterical type. Instead, he went charging in, guns blazing.

“You fucking bastard!”

Tim... Tim couldn't just be instantly _gone_. He couldn't be. The man was easily felled, not dead, though that would soon be remedied.

He lay there screaming and clutching his bleeding parts. 

He wasn't going anywhere.

Jason fell down next to the costume, and saw it wasn't empty after all: a lump was inside. He grimaced, and braced himself to find the charred remains of Tim...

But instead, a head poked out. An abnormally childish head...

The child, little tiny five year old child, looked out at him with wide, blue eyes. He seemed to be shivering, utterly naked inside the oversized costume. He looked at Jason without recognition.

“Tim?” Jason asked, staring. This couldn't be fucking happening. What the hell, were they on some sort of cartoon show? He reached towards the tiny child, who rapidly backtracked into the suit.

Jason groaned. He opened up the neck of the suit as best he could, and peered inside. He ignored the moaning man in the background. “Hey, Tim? It's Jason. I'm, uh, kinda your brother. Come out of there.”

He could make out the child pushing his way into the leg, which somehow managed to accommodate him. Come on, Tim didn't have thighs the size of a five year old child... though, granted, his costume probably had more give than Jason's.

Which, Jason's clothes were _not_ a costume, thank you very much. They were just his work clothes.

“Tim. I'm gonna give you til the count of three, and if you don't come out, I'm going to pull you out of there. One,” Jason said. He saw no move from Tim to come out.

“Two.”

Still, Tim wriggled as far down as he could, apparently unable to go any further. Which was good, cause otherwise Jason would have to talk to Tim about getting kinda porky. He scolded himself a little for that thought, knowing it simply wasn't the truth, but finding it funny anyway.

Now was not really a time for jokes, though.

“That's it, fucking three. Out you come, you little piece of shit,” Jason said with finality, and reached inside the costume.

Tiny Tim (god, Tim would never live this down when Jason was through with him) screamed, a small, experimental sound.

He stopped as soon as Jason got a grip on his skinny little arms, and pulled him out like yanking the innards out of a Christmas turkey. Jason had experience with that, having enjoyed helping Alfred cook.

Little naked Tim shivered, looking up at him with those big, blue eyes. He whimpered a little, pulling feebly at his grip.

Jason sighed, glad that Tim wasn't a biter, and took off his jacket. “You piss on this, you're replacing it, Tim.”

He swiftly had Tim wrapped up in the coat, just barely long enough to cover his bare bottom.

Good. He didn't want anyone looking at Tim's butt, especially at this age. He cradled Tim against his chest, and was surprised when Tim pushed away, a sort of frenzied look in his eyes. Still, barely a sound escaped him.

“Tim. Timmers. Come on, I'm not going to hurt you, okay?”

A piteous moan sounded from the man he'd shot. Jason said, “Okay, I did hurt him, but I'm not going to hurt you. Know why? Cause we're brothers.”

Tim just let out a small whimper, and continued trying to work himself free of Jason's grip. Jason was lucky Tim was so small and weak. Though, it was kinda weird he hadn't spoken a word. Shouldn't kids his age be jabbering away a mile a minute?

But then, Jason didn't exactly know the whole development stages, so he just forced Tim against his chest with one arm and headed for the manor.

Boy golly, they were going to be so glad to see him! They might even throw a parade!

He grumbled to himself as he approached, delicately driving his motorcycle. He was lucky Tim was now clutching him in fear, utterly terrified by the thought of falling off the motorcycle, or else it would be much harder to steer.

He swore he could see tear-tracks on Tim's face after he pulled up. He'd started to wriggle when they'd passed the old Drake manor, but still didn't say anything. Then he'd gone still again.

Tim stared up at the large doors to the Wayne manor. Abruptly, he shoved his fingers in his mouth, sucking fitfully.

Did kids still suck their fingers at five? 

Though, to be fair, Jason was assuming he was five. He looked kind of scrawny for five, honestly, now that Jason thought about it.

He lifted him against his chest with one arm, and walked up to the front door with the other.

He rang the doorbell. “Ding dong, Tim-tam delivery!”

The door was wrenched open, and not by Alfred, but instead by an irritated Damian. “Drake couldn't even—who the hell is that in your arms, Todd?”

Tim clung suddenly to Jason's shirt. He seemed terrified by Damian's harsh tones.

“Who do you think, dumbass?” Jason responded, and he strode in past Damian. Of course, the newest Robin could have stopped him, but he apparently chose not to, curiosity winning out.

“Your humor continues to be abysmal, Todd,” Damian said flatly. He eyed Tim, the shivering little bare-legged child in Jason's grasp, and apparently could not see Tim Drake at all there.

“I'm serious. This is Tim,” Jason said, walking into the kitchen. “Where's Bruce? He'll probably want to know about this.”

Damian stared a moment, obviously trying to figure out if Jason was just really putting the effort into a practical joke, or if he was telling the truth. He came over to poke at Tim. “Child. Look at me!”

Tim nervously looked at Damian, side of his head still smooshed against Jason's chest.

Damian started visibly. “Those are Drake's eyes! How—what--?”

“Don't know, but apparently, we've got a tiny child on our hands—well, another one, anyway,” Jason said, putting Tim on the counter and digging through the cupboards. 

“Shut up, Todd. That's not even slightly funny,” Damian growled, marching over and examining Tim. He probably felt like it wasn't a fair fight now or some crap like that.

Jason just dug through the various food items, until he came upon a box of fruit snacks. Leave it to Alfred to stock up on anything they might ever need. “Well, I guess you'll have to part with the title of 'cutest Wayne kid...' or you would, if you were the cutest.”

Okay, he had better stop, because otherwise Damian was seriously going to try to kill him.

Fortunately, Damian had ignored him, and was leaning into Tim's face. He was obviously looking for signs that Tim recognized him, that the old Tim was still in there. He didn't seem to get any.

“Well? At least speak!” Damian snapped at little Tim.

Tim stuttered something unintelligible.

“That's pathetic, Drake,” Damian said, hands on his hips as he glared at the five year old.

“Seriously, Damian? He's five. I know you'd willingly steal candy from a baby, but maybe you should let this one alone,” Jason said, ripping open the fruit snacks and handing them to Tim.

“Todd...” Damian growled, and Jason knew he was pushing it.

Still, he grinned at Tim, and watched him pick the purple fruit snacks out of the plastic sleeve. “Hey, Timmers. You like those fruit snacks?”

Tim looked unsure. He pulled them close to his chest, then, abruptly, dumped it all in his mouth.

“What an idiot,” Damian muttered.

“Tim-tam, you're gonna choke,” Jason said, looking at the child's slightly bulging cheeks. He was really enjoying getting to use all these childish nicknames for Tim, to be honest.

But Tim managed to chew it all, and swallow it, too. Jason supposed the kid must've had some kind of talent for that.

“So, where's Bats?” Jason asked Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes. “He's getting stitched up in the cave. We had a bit of a situation.”

“Ah. And you--”

“Nothing, Todd. I am completely unharmed,” Damian snapped. He was leaning back against the island, half-contemplating Tim, who has his hands on his knees and was staring down at them.

“Okay, since you're fine, keep an eye on Timmy while I go shock the fuck out of the Batman,” Jason said with a grin.

Frankly, he'd rather not talk to Batman, but it was unlikely Damian would go get Bruce for him. So, that left little option.

If it weren't for Tim, he definitely wouldn't bother.

“Wait—what? I don't—I am a fully trained—I don't look after children! Todd, get back here! I am not a babysitter, you--!”

By the time Damian's almost panicked cries had reached Jason, he was already on his way down. “If he needs burped, just pat his back!” he sang out.

The ride down was fast, but it gave him an uncomfortable moment alone. What would Bruce think of Tim being aged down by like, over a decade? He _probably_ wouldn't think it was actually Jason's fault.

Right?

But the door to the elevator opened, and he stepped out.

There Batman sat, Alfred finishing up a stitch on his arm. Jason didn't even get to say anything.

“Jason. What are you doing here?”

“Glad to see you too.”

“We took away your key.”

“Damian let me in,” Jason replied, swinging his hands up behind his head. “You know I wouldn't normally bother you, but Tim's in a bit of a...state.”

Bruce's eyes turned a bit worried—if you knew how to read him, anyway. “What? Is he all right?”

“Pretty sound, actually, but, uh, he's like, five.”

“Five what?”

Jason groaned. “Five years old. Or somewhere around there, I think. I'm not exactly a doctor or whatever.”

Alfred tied off the knot, and Bruce stood. He was already marching towards the elevator, shirt off and all.

Jason shrugged. He'd catch the next one up.

Alfed came up beside him, as soon as Bruce was gone. “And how are you doing, Master Jason?”

“Eh, could be better, could be worse,” Jason shrugged.

He kind of wished he could see Bruce's face. But, still, he took the next ride up with Alfred.

What he saw was not quite what he expected.


	2. Chapter 2

The adorable, tiny, and seemingly helpless Tim was jammed under the server in the area that connected the kitchen and the main living room. 

There was a thin wail coming from him, a sort of sound that made Jason think Tim didn't know he was making it.

And Damian was clutching his nose, growling and kicking at the server. “Get out of there, or I will murder you, Drake!”

Bruce had just entered upon the scene, and was in the midst of pulling Damian away from the server. His words were just leaving his mouth, as he said, “Damian! Stop right now--”

“Jesus fuck, Damian, what'd you do to Tim?” Jason demanded, running forward and ignoring the sound from Alfred at the cursing.

“ _Drake_ used his current form to pretend helplessness, then he punched me in the nose!” Damian shouted.

Blood was indeed seeping through his fingers just a little.

Bruce had pulled him away from the server, and the wailing had stopped.

Jason snorted, even as he dropped down to see under the server. “Are you telling me a five year old bloodied your nose, Damian?”

Damian's background assertions of, “No! He-He tricked me, he's not really a child, not really, he—I'm not—I didn't get bested by a child!” kind of bounced off of Jason's back. Sure, he'd joke about it a lot later, but he would have to do that later. Right now, Tim was in need of help.

Tim-Tam, of course, the precious little guy, was crouched in his jacket under the server. God, the kid could fit in small spaces. He was hunched over himself, fingers jammed into his mouth and sucking noisily. His eyes were shut for a moment, but he opened the big blues to look around warily. His eyes met with Jason's, and he quickly looked away.

“Hey Timmers,” Jason greeted, grinning. “Were you a good boy and hit Dami in the face?”

“That is not being a good boy, Todd!” Damian snapped shrilly.

Cautiously, Tim nodded. He seemed a little confused by Jason's wording, but he looked up again to meet his eyes.

Then, of course, he was quick to break the eye contact.

“Tim-Tam, it's okay. You're not in trouble, kay? How about you come out, and big brother Jay'll let you shoot one of his guns--”

“Jason.” Bruce said it sharply, warningly.

“Okay, okay, you can't shoot my gun, but you can have more fruit snacks. How's that, Timmers?” Jason put a big cheery grin on his face, something he wouldn't be caught dead with in front of most people.

This only seemed to scare Tim, so he dropped it, trying a more normal look. “Fruit snacks, Tim. As much as you want. And Damian won't hurt you, I swear.”

He cautiously extended his hand under the server, and hoped Tim would take it.

He didn't, making a very slight, muffled noise, and pushing back further, somehow.

“Goddamnit,” Jason sighed.

That was when Tim suddenly sniffed. At first, Jason thought he was crying, and braced himself for the onslaught. However, then Tim started to edge out of the side of the server, still somewhat swaddled in Jason's jacket.

Jason looked, and grinned—Alfred was the best at this. A bowl of chicken soup, the favorite of sick Bat brats everywhere, sat on the ground, an old plastic children's spoon next to it. It must have been Bruce's, once upon a time. It was a soft green, and looked like it would be comforting to hold.

Well, apparently Tim did find it comfortable, because picked it up and started eating the soup.

In fact, he started practically inhaling the stuff as he heard Jason chuckle. He seemed almost annoyed at the smallness of the spoon's bowl, but was not about to voice it.

“Tim-Tam, you're gonna choke,” Jason pointed out, and his point was proved when Tim did choke, coughing violently. He thumped the child's back, but as soon as he could breathe again, Tim ate just as fast.

Jason crinkled his brow. He'd seen this sort of behavior before, in a way... on the streets of Gotham.

But Tim came from an ultrarich family, in a huge mansion with staff and all that shit. Why exactly would he be eating like that?

Bruce was standing behind him now, eyeing Tim. His face was serious as ever, a sort of wrinkle of worry between his brows.

Jason moved, so he didn't have his back to Batman. “Hey, you notice he eats like a starving animal yet? Cause, seriously, I think Tim's part hyena or something.”

“If he were part hyena, he would be laughing uproariously,” Damian groused, joining them with his arms crossed over his chest. “And getting beat around by females—oh wait, that is Drake. So, your assessment is half-correct, Todd.”

“Don't diss a guy when he's a five year old, Damian, that's just in bad taste,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “Sides, I just meant the whole eat-whatever-the-fuck-they-find aspect.”

“Drake understands everything,” Damian insisted, “He's just playing a game.”

“You're just saying that because he made your nose bleed--”

“No, I am not, Todd! And besides, it barely bled at all, it was just an old wound reopening, he didn't actually hurt me! That would be ridiculous!” Damian growled at Jason, hands clenched in fists like he would come at him right then.

Tim started coughing again. Jason crouched down to his level, and rubbed his back. 

However, Tim flinched away, regaining his breath and dragging the quarter-full bowl with him. He was kind of hiccuping, a muted sound he was obviously trying to choke down. Of course, hiccups didn't exactly work that way, as teen Tim would know from experience with a rather ridiculous hiccup ray (Jason had been sworn to secrecy), but tiny Tim didn't know that.

Bruce tried leaning down to Tim's level. Jason had always considered the man emotionally constipated, except when it came to 'righteous anger' or however the fuck he justified the few occasions he'd gone ape shit on people. Okay, okay, Jason had gone ape shit on people way more often, but at least he didn't pretend he didn't.

Anyway, Bruce softened his face, and reached out to touch Tim's head.

Tim froze. There was a vague look of recognition in his eyes, but not the look of a child recognizing a father or something like that; it was more like someone seeing a distant family member or family friend they'd seen in a picture or from afar at family reunions. In other words, he could see this was Mr. Wayne, his next door neighbor, but he did not recognize Bruce as his father at all.

“Hello, Tim. You're going to be okay.”

Tim stuttered out, “Mr. Wayne, i-it's a p-pul-pleasure.” Then, instantly, what was obviously supposed to be a polite, society-worthy smile was on his face.

It was hideous. It was obvious he was terrified, completely obvious he would rather be anywhere but here. And it was obvious the hand on top of his head was making him more scared.

Bruce withdrew his hand. “Tim, your parents are... busy. You're going to stay with us for a little while, okay?”

Tim didn't look too surprised at the busy statement, but his eyes did widen at the whole staying with them part. When he tried to say 'But', it was mangled so badly that at first Jason wasn't even sure what word he was trying to say.

God, how exactly did Tim, reasonably articulate Tim, end up with such speech problems? Jason was hoping it was just the shock and he'd be able to speak properly once he calmed down.

“-tt-. We don't need a five year old Drake. We should give him to someone else,” Damian said.

“Fucking hell, Damian, when you get handed a child you don't just go dumping them off on someone else cause they're useless or some shit like that!” Jason snapped, 

Damian gave a cool glare back. “Todd, what are we going to do with a five year old child? Is he going to fight crime? How exactly does Bruce Wayne explain the presence of a five year old child--”

“He explained your presence just fine, you little fuckhead!” Jason snarled back. “And this isn't permanent, we can fix this!”

“Not to mention,” Bruce said gravely, “Ability to fight does not determine a person's worth, Damian.”

Damian seemed to relent a little at that, glaring down at the floor. “Like any of us would be good at taking care of him...”

There was a bit of a silence at that, until Alfred harrumphed.

“If it escapes your memories, I have helped with several children throughout the years. Master Tim will be well cared for, if I do say so myself.”

Jason grinned. He crouched down next to Tim, saying, “You hear that, Timmers? Alfred'll take care of you. He's really great at that, I swear to fuck.”

“Master Jason,” Alfred said gravely, “He is a five year old child. Please watch your mouth, or I will rinse it out with soap.”

Well, to be fair, Alfred had once done that. Early on, Jason had a habit of cursing everyone and everything. When he'd cursed out a socialite who was visiting, Alfred had quietly and discreetly removed him to the washroom—and used a tiny amount of soap to remind him. Incredibly tiny, and not entirely horrible to experience, but it had been enough to clean up his mouth.

But, Alfred couldn't exactly force his head under the faucet nowadays. “Yeah, okay, Alfred,” he sighed anyway, and he turned to Tim. “Tim, I swear you're going to be all right. No one here'll hurt you, okay?”

Tim was breathing kind of fast, but he didn't quite have a panicked look on his face. “M-Mumma, she'll—I—home, I hafta--!”

“Your mom's not home, remember?” Jason reminded.

Tim's eyes started to water up with tears. “Then M-Miss Nance, she'll—I can't—please, it'll lock--”

“Tim-Tam, Miss Nance isn't there either,” Jason said, wondering who 'Miss Nance' was. “And it's okay if the doors are locked. You'll be able to get back in later, I swear. For now, though, you're with us, kay, kiddo?”

But Tim started sobbing. The way he sobbed was incredibly quiet, incredibly unlike a child in distress waiting for their parent to come running. Jason couldn't quite pin it down to a particular way of crying he'd heard.

“Wonderful. Now he's crying,” Damian groaned.

“Yeah, cause you never cried when you were five,” Jason snapped.

“No. I did not,” Damian said flatly. “I broke bones and I didn't cry. Drake is pathetic.”

Tim drew the coat around himself tighter. He seemed unable to fight the tears streaking down his face, as he piteously said, “Never come back?”

It must have been originally a longer statement in his head.

Bruce and Jason exchanged glances. God, he hated that they could still communicate that way.

But it was Alfred who swooped in to the rescue. He picked Tim up, pressing the boy against his crisp uniform. “There there, Master Timothy. You look like you need cookies, young man. I have some that need to be eaten; could you help me out with it?”

Tim was sniffling, but he shyly nodded at Alfred.

That was another thing Jason noticed about Tim. He held himself rather awkwardly when he was picked up. It was almost as if he didn't know how to be held. Nervous hands were placed on Alfred's shoulders, keeping a distance between them, and his legs twisted rather awkwardly; Alfred was obviously doing all the work in keeping him up.

What kid didn't latch on at all? 

As Alfred disappeared back in to the kitchen, he could see Tim look over his shoulder towards him.

“It's okay, Timmers. Eat lots of cookies!”

“How much can that child eat? I never see Drake eat,” Damain commented.

He got a glare from Jason. He was still putting pieces together himself, but he didn't quite know what to make of it all.

Bruce had taken out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, warily eyeing the phone.

Bruce sighed. “We could use backup.”

Jason didn't know if he meant to figure out the scientific side of Tim being turned into a kid, or if he meant to deal with the wreck that was tiny Tim Drake.

It turned out to be both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mm. I hope y'all liked this chapter. Upcoming: Dick, Steph, and Cass get to react to Tiny Tim! :D 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments! They really made me dance in my chair and sing. :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: implied past sexual abuse.

At least Dick was a cheerful bastard about all this.

When he had arrived, the situation had been entirely explained to him. When the age was mentioned, he got a funny look on his face, and headed to the kitchen.

Of course, the whole family followed. Jason wanted to know what the fuck Dick thought he could do that none of the rest of them could do. Who did Dick think he was, some sort of child-charming god?

Tim was in an adorable set of footie pajamas, which looked like it had seen much better times. It was blue, but the shade spoke of a time long ago, as did the little white collar. God knew that set of pajamas was not from this century.

Said child was sitting on a little plastic chair that looked like it had just been wiped clean; it was yellow, and appeared to have faded balloons printed on the backrest. He was also stuffing his face with cookies.

Dick was crouched on the balls of his feet in front of Tim, smiling like Tim would fucking come running and throw his arms around him--

But Tim stood. He was still chewing furiously, and his fist was full of crumbled cookies, but his other hand reached out cautiously.

“Yeah, that's right, Tim. You remember me, huh?” Dick said, hands hanging between his bent knees as he smiled at Tim.

Much to Jason's shock, Tim put his hand on the side of Dick's face. His face was creased, like he was trying to figure it out. He jammed more cookie into his mouth as he contemplated Dick. “...Chard? But...”

“I got a lot bigger, huh?” Dick said with an apologetic smile.

“Especially in the ass region,” Jason commented.

To his credit, Dick didn't take the bait, though Damian did rather viciously elbow Jason in the side. While he was catching his breath again, Dick continued to try to connect with Tim.

“Richard,” Tim said, and it slid out easily, like he said it a lot. He glanced around at the others in the doorway of the kitchen, and then his eyes slid back to Dick. He was looking at him very seriously, and then, his eyes bashfully looked down at his tiny feet. He mumbled something.

“Tim, I can't tell what you're saying; can you repeat it a little louder?” Dick coaxed.

Again, Tim said _something_ , but what it was, that was anyone's guess. Jason thought he'd have a better chance at fucking Wonder Woman than getting this information out of Tim-Tam, but suddenly, Tim blurted it out in mangled English (while Batman was strangely giving Jason a dark look).

“I wanna stay w-wif you!” It was probably the most complete sentence they'd heard so far. 

“You are, Tim. You're staying with all of us,” Dick said gently.

This was apparently the wrong response. You didn't have to be an expert in body language to see the way Tim just shriveled in on himself, limbs tucked close and head hanging. He let out a sound that seemed to be one of disagreement, maybe frustration or pain.

Dick instantly realized he'd said the wrong thing, and said, “Tim, I'll stay here, it's okay! Everyone here loves you, they're going to help take care of you, okay?”

Another noise, and Tim looked desperately at Dick.

“Dick, you want to explain why the fuck Tim imprinted on you?” Jason demanded, thinking that if they understood the situation, they might be able to actually help Tim.

Dick sighed. “I'll explain later.” He had a pained look on his face, for reasons undetermined.

Tim gave one last frustrated look towards Dick, a sort of longing there, and then went to grab more cookies. 

“Does he never stop eating?” Damian wanted to know.

Dick gave another sigh. “I think I should show you guys something.”

They left Tim to Alfred, and walked down the hallway. “Bruce _should_ know about this,” Dick said, as they entered Tim's room.

The place was a pig sty. It had piles of everything everywhere, homework and case work on the desk, clothes in piles of what Jason presumed was 'clean' and 'not clean', all kinds of scattered bric-a-brac... but the bed was made with military precision.

Jason smirked to himself. Alfred's old rule still held firm.

Dick carefully stepped through the minefield, and went to the closet. 

“So, uh, how come you seem to know all kinds of shit about Tim?” Jason asked. They didn't even live in the same house like, ever... Why exactly would he know all he seemed to know about Tim? Did he spy on him too?

Dick gave him a look like he was crazy. “...because he's my brother and I love him?”

“Just show us whatever it is,” Damian grumbled.

Dick obliged, opening up the closet. What Jason saw was rather unexpected... maybe not entirely unexpected, but the sheer magnitude of it was startling.

Damian snapped, “What does Drake think is coming, a great famine?”

For, the closet was filled to the top with food. Food of all kinds, anything that would keep in those conditions. Chips, jerky, donuts that must have gone stale, dried vegetables, granola bars, plain old granola, cereal, fruit snacks, any and all manner of nonperishable food was present.

Jason stared. “...so Tim's a hoarder?”

“Food hoarder,” Dick replied, glancing over at Batman. “Look, there's a lot you don't know or understand about Tim. Hell, there's a lot I don't know. But he's had his battle scars just like the rest of us, and you need to know that all he needs is to be loved right now.”

Jason felt his mouth twitch at the L word. “Well then, he's pretty much fucked.”

“Why would he keep so much food?” Damian wanted to know, looking like he thought Tim was the stupidest person on the planet. He looked like he thought he'd met cows smarter than Tim. “There is a mountain of food in the kitchen! There's more food there than he can eat! Why would he hide it in his room? That makes no sense!”

Dick seemed like he wanted to be really patient with Damian, and so he was obviously about to gently explain, but Jason cut him to the chase.

“It's not about sense, it's about fucking security. I used to keep a small stash of stuff in the beginning,” Jason admitted, eyeing the great pile, “nothing like that, though.”

Damian snorted. “Does he think someone's going to come along and take it away?”

Dick said, quietly, “That's exactly what he thinks, at least subconsciously.”

Jason frowned, saying, “And how the hell does some super-rich kid think that he won't have food? I mean, fucking hell, he must have been stuffed with gourmet shit every fucking day!”

This just wasn't adding up. It made no sense to Jason at all; how could Tim be this way? He had _everything_ , how could anyone who had so much feel so insecure about things like this?

Dick was quiet a moment. Then he said, “I'm not entirely sure. He didn't explain everything to me.”

“Okay, then explain why he recognizes you and fucking loves you!” Jason snapped, irritable at the lack of answers.

“Well...” Dick shrugged a moment, as if releasing himself from some sort of obligation not to tell. “You both know I was an acrobat. Well, Tim was at my shows, up til... well, he kind of latched on. He tried to convince me at one point to take him away with me to the circus. Well... more accurately, he held on to my leg and wouldn't let go after we took a picture with his family. He talked more than he did just now, though; he's probably scared out of his mind.”

Dick frowned at that memory. “He kind of kept tabs on me throughout my whole career as Robin. That was the reason he even wanted to deduce Batman's identity: he recognized me as Robin, and it just kind of snowballed from there.”

“Wait... so Tim has this huge crush on you?” Jason said, staring a moment. If that was how Tim felt _now_ , goddamn if he wasn't good at not letting on.

Dick just shrugged.

Damian was radiating jealousy, though his expression was one of practiced indifference. “-tt-. How is this worth any amount of time?”

“Because Tim is literally a frightened child in our kitchen!” Jason snapped, “And if we're gonna make him feel safe, we gotta know fucking _how!_ ”

“'Our' kitchen?” Damian sniped.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Jason growled back. “Well, now that we know Tim's teenage fantasies probably involve Dick, how about we figure out how the hell he ended up five years old!”

Dick was glaring at him, but Batman said, “You won't be helping with that, Jason. I've called in far more experienced people to help.”

Jason glared, but he couldn't argue. Fuck him and his never-finishing-high-school shit. He didn't ever let that make people call him stupid, but he did have to acknowledge his science knowledge would probably not apply in this case.

“Who'd you call?” Dick wanted to know, arms crossed over his chest.

“The Flash, among others,” Batman said stiffly, and then he left the room.

When they came down, the three of them, the front door was opening. Cass and Steph were coming through like they owned the place (well, they did have a fucking key apiece) and rushed over to the boys.

“Oh my god, what happened to Tim?” Stephanie demanded, and Cass's serious look demanded answers or else broken bones.

“Oh, he's fucking five years old and Damian's jealous as hell,” Jason replied.

“I am not!” Damian snapped.

Stephanie looked at Jason in shock, but then said, “Wait, what are you doing here? Dick, did you call _Jason_?”

“I fucking found him. Finders keepers and all that,” Jason said with a glare. He was quick to back off when Cass returned it with her own menacing look.

Stephanie let out a sigh, as if Jason's antics were to be expected. Fuck her, he was unpredictable. “Come on, Cass. Let's hope they didn't traumatize him too much.”

The girls walked into the kitchen, and of course, the others followed.

As soon as he saw the girls, Tim froze, cookie midway to his mouth. He looked around at the others, but quickly settled on Dick's face. He made a noise, which was apparently supposed to communicate something to Dick.

“Hi, Tim,” Stephanie said softly, leaning down to his level. He looked up at her.

Cass frowned. “He's scared. And... a mix of emotions. But he doesn't recognize you.”

Stephanie was probably frowning. But she tried again, voice honey-sweet, as she said, “Tim, it's okay. Cass and I are going to take care of you, okay? Can you come here?” She opened her arms.

Tim looked over her shoulder at Dick, confused. Dick just nodded at him encouragingly.

Then, abruptly, something seemed to click, and Tim moved towards Stephanie.

Cass sucked in a sharp breath, saying, “Steph, wait--!”

But Tim had already made his move, and he was—the fuck? Jason stared stupidly.

Dutifully, like this was the response to women, Tim was pulling open the snaps on Stephanie's shirt. They could see the lacy pink of Steph's bra before she responded, batting away Tim's hands and snapping it back up. “Tim! What the—no!”

“Is he trying to nurse?” Damian asked, looking at his siblings for an answer.

Tim, poor Tim-Tam, just stood there, frozen, and looking utterly confused. He looked fearfully at each of them, as if one more piece of the world did not make sense to him.

Jason just stared. This... it had to be just some quirk, right? Maybe he liked boobs. Though, now that Jason thought about it, Tim had always been sort of different about sexual stuff. Like, compared to him and Dick.

Well, to be fair, Dick was _way_ sexually active compared to like, anyone in this family, whether or not it was really a high rate of sex compared to the general population. Jason wasn't sure how much the average person had sex anyway.

But Tim... There was something undeniably different about how he did things.

And now, Tim was sucking his fingers again, looking utterly lost—and maybe even rejected.

Alfred came to the rescue, as everyone else was a bit shocked. He picked up Tim gently, and said, “How about some warm milk, Master Timothy?”

“You know, he's going to get obese at this rate--” Damian started, but Cass cut that off with a death glare.

They were quiet. 

The only sound was Tim sipping milk quietly from a cup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this is at least somewhat canon-compliant. I feel like the relationship between Dick and Tim is very brotherly, and of course, Tim has always had a certain amount of hero-worship for Dick. :)
> 
> I don't write Cass often. I hope I did well with her.


	4. Chapter 4

“Drake is broken,” was what Damian said, and Stephanie caught Cass's shoulder in time.

They were sitting in the living room, without Batman, who was too busy with the Flash and Martian Manhunter in the batcave running samples and the like. Jason sat on the floor, absently loading and reloading his gun.

Cass and Steph were curled up together, though right now Cass was leaning forward threateningly.

Dick was sitting on one of those rocking chairs with the fold out feet, and Damian was sitting on the arm. Like no one noticed his need for close proximity with Dick.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Jason snapped, “Your childhood wasn't—isn't, all peaches and cream and shit.”

Damian was glaring, but Dick put a calming hand on his arm. Thank god for that, because while Jason might win some money betting on who would come out in the aftermath, he wasn't entirely sure who would win between Damian and Cass. Because that was what it was coming down to, honestly.

“He's scared,” Cass said, “He doesn't understand and he's scared.”

“Yeah,” Stephanie said, worrying her pink lower lip. She was probably wearing a bit of lipstick or gloss or whatever the hell girls put on their lips these days. She caught Jason looking, and glared.

He just raised his eyebrows back.

She pointedly ignored him. “Tim's... well, he didn't exactly come from a normal family. He and I... we talked about it a little.”

“Did he soil his diapers and sit in them too long?” Damain sneered.

“No—well, yeah, but that's not...Damian, don't be a brat, this is serious.” Steph was glaring, and if Steph was glaring, Cass wasn't far behind, at least in this case.

They were both kinda protective of Tim, though to be fair, Tim could be protective back. When he wasn't a tiny child, anyway. Jason had always been just a little jealous the three's relationship, the way they got along and cooperated most of the time.

Okay, not jealous, because, you know, he did not want to come back or anything. No. Just, it would be nice to be close with partners that way.

He'd never really had that.

“I know some things about his past too,” Dick said solemnly, like he had some special duty here. Fuck him, they were just talking.

“Well? Not everyone here is apparently Tim's special sharing buddy,” Jason said, and he felt three pairs of eyes turn on him accusingly.

“Does he have to be here?” Stephanie said, clearly asking Dick. “I don't think he's really going to help anything, and he's an ass.”

“An ass with a heart, thank you,” Jason grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He wouldn't necessarily completely admit it, but he had soft spot for Tim. Now. He'd wanted him dead before, though that wasn't anything against Tim as a person, just... what he represented. “Look, I don't hate Tim. I want him to get better too.”

Dick shrugged. “He did find him. And, they are brothers.”

“Family relation doesn't mean anything,” Stephanie said icily.

It was a little awkward at that point, but Damian had a talent for making it more awkward. “None of you are really related; I'm the blood son. The rest of you are just--”

“Damian,” Dick said, gently but warningly.

“Anyway, let's figure out what's wrong with Tim, okay? Let's start: he eats like he's going to starve otherwise, he hoards an enormous amount of food--” Jason was quickly followed up by Damian.

“He likes Dick too much.”

“There's no such thing--”

“Dick, be serious,” Steph warned. Dick shrugged, as if saying he was being serious, but let it go.

“We know why he's this way,” Cass said, and this stopped the list making.

“Why?” Jason asked, leaning towards her a bit. He didn't mean to do that, it just kinda happened.

She looked to Stephanie. Stephanie sighed.

“He was...left alone a lot as a kid. His parents were never around, and when they were... they weren't exactly kind.”

“Who's Miss Nance?” Dick asked, looking over at both girls.

Steph shrugged, but Cass said, “She was his nanny.”

Stephanie looked startled that Cass knew and she didn't, turning to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“His nanny. It came up...unexpectedly,” Cass said. “We were getting flu shots together. Nurse was Nancy. She said, 'Nance'll take care of you.'”

She ended there, like that explained everything.

She realized, it seemed, pretty quickly that it didn't, as they looked at her expectantly. “He flinched, his pupils shrunk, he ducked his head down a fraction, his shoulders hunched--”

“But how do you know she was his nanny?” Jason demanded.

Cass seemed to stop on that, like she couldn't quite explain it. “His... body. How it reacted. She was his mother figure. Of sorts.”

Obviously, the others trusted her expertise enough.

Jason wasn't sure, but decided against open defiance. “So... what does all of it mean?”

“He was neglected. He didn't... connect, with a parental figure,” Cass said, hands folded in her lap. Jason could read body language a bit too, and since she wasn't actively hiding it, he could tell that she felt some sort of kinship.

He knew a bit about her story. One hell of a dad, like many of them. Well, not Dick, obviously. Golden boy was actually cared about by both parents and fed and not left behind anywhere.

He felt a twinge, because he knew that Dick's parents had died and there was no reason to be jealous, but it was still there.

“What about Miss Nance? You said she was a mother figure.”

Cass shook her head, then nodded. “It's...complicated.” She didn't elaborate.

At that point, they all became aware they had an intruder—of sorts.

Tim was inching along the floor, footied feet silent on the wood. He looked utterly shocked when they all turned their eyes on him, like he hadn't expected to be noticed at all. To be fair, he didn't know he was in the mansion of the fucking bat family.

...no, no, Jason did _not_ just call them the bat family! Wayne family. Group of people associated with Batman. Bat people.Yes, that was better.

“Hey, Tim,” Stephanie said cautiously, getting up slowly. She was already heading towards him.

“Whoa, bad idea, Steph!” Jason said, but she ignored him.

Tim watched her cautiously too, and somewhat bemusedly. He seemed somewhat frozen where he was, and when Stephanie hooked under his armpits, murmuring soothing things, he seemed to stay as still as before.

She sort of cradled him, and he was just as bad at being held as before, though one hand gripped the fabric of her sleeve this time.

She sat down on the couch with him, and put him between her and Cass. Not on her lap, which was probably a good move, considering his trying to help her strip thing earlier.

Jason still didn't necessarily want to think about the implications.

Tim studiously kept his arms within his personal space, hands splayed on his thighs, back straight. He turned to look towards Cass minutely.

She didn't smile at him. Instead, she was gazing at him intently, but she didn't share what she found with the class. She said, in a way that sounded like she thought this was a normal suggestion and completely followed what had happened, “He'd like a pacifier.”

“A what?” Damian wanted to know.

Jason burst out, “He's five, don't treat him like a baby! What do you think Tim would say if he could?”

Dick, however, said, “Why do you think that?”

“He's about to start sucking his fingers,” Cass replied, “And... he puts things in his mouth a lot. He might have had one before.”

“Wait, it's a thing you suck?” Damian demanded, incredulous. “Like he's nursing or something?”

How Damian knew about nursing but not pacifiers, Jason wasn't sure he wanted to pry into. He glared at Cass, insisting, “Come on. It's going to be embarrassing enough for the guy when he turns back into a pumpkin, but he has to find himself with a binky in his mouth?”

His harsh tones, however, were not doing wonders, to say the least.

Tim was curling into himself, slowly hunching and pulling his arms tighter to himself. His fingers were quickly jammed into his mouth.

Stephanie put in, “Isn't it like, a bad thing for a child to have a pacifier this old? Supposed to be a sign of... bad stuff, I don't know...”

“Maybe it's why he doesn't talk much,” Jason suggested.

“He can talk,” Cass assured. She gently brushed some of Tim's hair out of his face, and told him, “We're going to get you a pacifier.”

He seemed to brighten a little, just a tiny bit of hope in his eyes. He also looked like he thought they might be tricking him.

It made Jason want to hurt someone. He couldn't quite explain it, but he felt that a child that age needing a pacifier so much was a sure sign something was wrong. “Cass, that's just... it's wrong. He's too old, and it's... fucking messed up.”

She looked at him like he was the crazy one. “He needs one.”

He looked to Steph, sure she would back him up. She shrugged, though. “He probably needs all the comfort he can get right now, and it's temporary anyway...”

Dick sighed when he turned to him. “He seems sort of... developmentally delayed. We had a course on this in the Academy... well, it wasn't really thorough, but kids who are deprived, they often keep infantile behaviors.”

“Tim's going to kill you guys,” Jason promised. “When he's better.”

It didn't change anyone's mind. Dick drove to the store and managed to find pacifiers. Nothing fancy, little nearly clear plastic thing with multicolored stars on the outer part, the white-ish clear... nipple... and a blue handle-thing on the end.

Damian couldn't stop laughing once he saw it.

Tim had been fidgety for the whole time Dick was gone, picking at his clothes, breathing a little fast, not meeting anyone's eyes, all that.

But when he was presented with the pacifier, he was quick to pop it in and start sucking. He curled one hand into his own hair, and seemed to relax a bit. Just a bit. It wasn't like his body suddenly went boneless and he fell asleep.

God, he was five, why were they doing this...?

Jason approached anyway, saying, somewhat gruffly, “Someone should put him to bed.”

“I'll handle it. He knows me the best,” Dick pointed out, and he very carefully picked Tim up. “Hey, Tim. You're going to go to sleep now, okay? In a bed, in my old room. It's very nice, very soft, and no one will bother you while you're sleeping. Okay?”

Tim cautiously nodded, and Jason couldn't help but notice his hands were clenched in Dick's shirt rather than pushing against, though he was still very awkward at being held.

Dick flashed a victorious smile at all of them; Jason gave him the finger.

He chose to ignore it, and headed up the stairs.

“Okay, but seriously; pacifier's a band-aid,” Jason pointed out, looking over at the remaining Batgirls and Robin. Okay, he could probably just forget about Damian, who was no longer laughing, though there was a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“He needs to feel safe,” Cass said. “But he doesn't have a bond with anyone.”

“Except maybe Dick. He might have to take time off of work, if this is going to go on any length of time,” Stephanie said thoughtfully. She looked a little like _she_ wanted to be the one who had his relative trust--okay, a lot. They were close or some shit like that.

“Fuck Dick. We can make him feel safe, we just need to show him he's safe with us,” Jason insisted, and he got a raised eyebrow from Cass. “What?”

“You say you don't like Tim.” Her tone indicated she _knew_ that wasn't the case.

“Yes, Cassandra, I doodle pictures of me and Tim in my notebook at school. One day, I hope to be Mrs. Tim Drake! Happy?” he groused.

He didn't get the chance to hear her comeback, or Steph's. Instead, they were alarmed by screaming.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a panicked scream, or set of screams.

They were up the stairs faster than humans had a right to, and Jason was ready to kick some ass. What he was confronted with, however, was a distressed Dick Grayson talking through the bathroom door, which was where the screaming was coming from.

“Press the round middle. Tim, stop screaming, please, press the round part, it'll pop right open, I swear--”

There was the sound of small hands beating against the door, a heartbreaking sob as it refused to give way. There was the rattling of the handle too, but that was quickly abandoned when it seemed not to work.

Jason expected a snide comment from Damian, even as he himself groaned and snapped, “How the fuck did you fuck that up so fucking badly, Dick?”

Steph and Cass were at the door already, talking in soothing voices—mostly Stephanie, as Cass wasn't much of a talker and generally considered herself not as 'good at it.'

But the child on the other side was in hysterics, and Jason was slowly making out words-- most of them seemed to be 'please' and 'good' and 'Mumma'. He realized quickly that the words were promises to _be_ good, not that it was good to be trapped in the bathroom.

Jason growled under his breath, as his siblings were trying to talk Tim through opening the door—who the fuck doesn't know how to open a simple bathroom lock? He had to admit, sometimes people panicked, but not Tim, Tim always had a plan, a logical solution...

Well, this was five year old Tim-Tam, so... maybe he could let it go.

“I'm sorry,” Dick was saying, “He was twitching badly, and I realized he needed to go—I thought he'd want privacy--”

“So you locked the fucking door?” Jason demanded, incredulous and ready to whack Dick up the side of the head.

Not that Dick would probably let him get close enough for that. Dick looked utterly guilty, but he was still Nightwing. He said, sounding helpless, “He locked the door himself when he tried to get it open. And now he thinks I locked him in.”

Funny, Jason realized, Damian hadn't had a snide comment at all. Which, really, if it were teen Tim trapped in a bathroom he locked himself into, there would be no shortage, and Damian didn't seem to differentiate.

So Jason looked back the former youngest member of the family—and froze in shock.

The look on Damian's was positively stricken. When he noticed Jason looking at him, however, he was very quick to change his face to angry. He marched forward, drawing a sai from god knew where, and was about to charge the door. “Just break it down!”

Cass and Steph caught him, and Dick reminded him, “Tim's directly on the other side; you'll hit him!'

At that moment, Tim's vocalizations consisted only of heartbroken sobs as he slowly slid down the door, the sounds of fabric against wood and skin squeaking.

“He's down; I can get it--” Damian insisted; Jason was quick to join in in holding him back, because Damian was one resourceful little motherfucker when he wanted to do something.

“You can't risk hurting Tim!” Stephanie shouted at him.

Tim had quieted down to what Jason could only describe as I've-given-up sobs. Like he wanted to cry but knew it wouldn't help. They were weak, lacking passion as compared to before, and expressed only a resignation.

It made his gut boil.

Doors in the Wayne manor were sturdier stuff than the average door; also, the hinges were on the inside of this door, a major oversight, in Jason's opinion.

He tapped on the door, saying softly, “Hey, Tim-Tam? You gotta do a thing for me, okay? Then you can shoot big bro Jay's gun.” 

He almost could hear the disapproval radiating from his siblings, except Damian, who probably shot a gun at a younger age or some messed up shit like that.

Tim didn't respond.

“He has to get out!” Damian snapped, frustration evident in his tone. It was a very different Damian, at least in terms of relating to Tim.

They could hear Tim shifting against the door, and what, did he think the door would disappear if he wasn't touching it? He was kinda throwing a monkey wrench in any attempt to break down the door.

He was still crying, of course, a subdued, resigned sound.

It was making Jason's heart do weird things, so he tapped on the door again. “Timmers. Come on, listen to big bro Jay, okay? You're going to get out of there, and it's gonna be okay. You need to press the round, gold center of the doorknob, okay? It'll open the door, and you'll be free as a fucking lark, I swear to god.”

If any of them had any qualms about his language, they don't say so.

The other three were still engaged in keeping Damian away from the door, Jason having let go to talk to Tim up close and Dick quick to take his place.

Damian was agitated, obviously annoyed. Well, more than that, really. It was kind of hard to place, exactly, what emotion was coming from Damian.

He could hear Tim shuffling, and then there was the sound of... the damn binky. Jason groaned, forcefully pushing his hands through his hair. “Tim, drop the damn pacifier and open the door! It's not hard!”

Why can't Tim follow basic fucking instructions?

It was making Jason mad, even though at the same time he was feeling incredibly bad for Tim. Some small, almost moaning sobs were making it out around the binky. 

“Well, great, your plug worked! At least we don't have to hear him cry, not really!” Jason raged at his siblings.

Damian wrenched his wrist free of Stephanie's grip, the one holding the sai. “ _I_ have an actual idea, thank you very much, instead of just raging at everyone!”

If Jason was in a better mood, he might make some obscene 'pot, kettle' joke. Instead, he threw his hands up in the air, shouting, “You just want to smash the door in!”

Damian snapped back, “No! I was going to do that at first, but look at the doorknob! That will be able to be broken off with the right leverage, and then there's nothing holding the door shut, you big imbecile!”

Jason was angry, so even though he could see the sense in the plan, he raged back, “Why didn't you come up with that earlier?”

“Let—me—go!” Damian had apparently had enough, and delivered rather painful blows to his siblings, who should have expected it, but of course, they never used enough force with the fucking demon brat.

Jason was steaming at Damian, but Damian sidestepped him determinedly, and hey, it was better than getting stabbed with a sai, but Damian was ignoring him as he said, “Damian, it's not going to come off, these damn door knobs are made to withstand fucking anything, they're like, adamnatium or some shit like that--”

Damian, however, pried under the doorknob somehow, and with a snapping noise, there went the doorknob.

The door fell open, a tightly curled Tim sort of vaguely falling out. He was sucking furiously on his pacifier, his eyes shut, but opening as he realized the door was open. His eyes met Damian's, and even as Jason was snapping,

“What the fuck, what is that sai made of--”

“More like what are the screws made of,” Damian muttered, seeming utterly fed up with his siblings apparent lack of sense.

Well, demon brat, fuck you too.

To everyone's shock, Damian picked up Tim. Not even upside down, or by the ankle, or what have you; he was honest-to-god holding Tim against his chest. Very awkwardly, because it was quite clear neither person knew what they were doing.

He seemed shocked too, almost. Presumably, at least, as far as Jason was reasoning, Tim should be half Damian's size... half his age, half his size, right?

But he had somehow managed to support him with one arm, plastered against his chest like a postage stamp.

“Damian, I'll take Tim,” Stephanie said cautiously like he was going to hurt Tim.

To be fair, he probably was, and would laugh about it. Jason was edging closer too.

And this... well, spooked was not the right word. It was too angry to be spooked. But Damian instantly switched to the defensive.

“None of you have any idea what you're doing with a child!” he accused, as if he somehow knew better.

Where was a 'pot, kettle' joke when you needed one? Jason couldn't believe he was coming up blank. “Damian, put Tim down, and step away.”

“Jaybird, this isn't a hostage negotiation, he's not going to hurt him,” Dick said calmly, though he had his hands out in an almost conciliatory fashion.

When Damian saw even Dick doing that, it was apparently the last straw. “You're all horrible siblings and Drake will do better without you!” he shouted, and boom, off he went, somehow managing to do a backflip to the bottom of the stairs while still sticking Tim to his chest. Poor kiddo didn't seem to protest, but that was probably the damn plug.

“Goddamnit, Damian!” Jason shouted, and they'd all taken off after him, though Dick seemed most focused on stopping them from attacking Damian.

“Guys, he's not going to hurt him--”

“No, he's not.”

That was when Jason realized it was really only him and Stephanie going after Damian. Cass was just tagging along.

Well, she was obviously wrong this time, because he was a bloodthirty little psychopath, and there was no fucking chance in hell he'd suddenly gotten brotherly instincts.

“Damian, he needs to sleep,” Dick was calling into mansion. No one was entirely sure where they'd gone.

“He could be scalping him right now!” Jason snapped, “Or, I don't know, some weird ninja torture!” Normally, he'd say that such things were an exaggeration. However, this was Tim and Damian; they actively hated each other.

And Damian was trained to take advantage of a foe's weakness.

Of course he wouldn't care that he was a child, Damian was a child too.

They searched the mansion, which was remarkably fast, given their profession. No clue went unnoticed, no hideout unturned out.

Dick was looking thoughtful. “He hasn't left the house; the alarm's still on...”

“Well, then where is he?” Jason demanded; it had been about fifteen minutes, and Jason was a patient guy—okay, that was a lie, but sometimes he could act like he was patient. This was not one of those times.

Dick led the way—not fast enough for Jason, but he did.

They made it to a part of the house that was sort of less accessible; it was sort of the intermediary between the batcave and the mansion. There was a certain amount of metal there, and enormous vents that sat pretty straight.

Cass suddenly got a look on her face: fond nostalgia.

“Well, apparently Cass knows what the hell--”

Dick moved a vent cover that was loose, and lo and behold, there was Damian, looking petulant and with Tim sprawled on his lap, binky looking like it would slip from his mouth at any moment.

Jason stared, first flashing instinct saying that Tim was dead.

But his chest was clearly rising and falling, so maybe drugged. “Damian, what did you do to Tim? If you don't have something to reverse it, I'm going to turn your--”

“Jason,” Cass said softly, hand on his shoulder. Wow, Cass did not usually touch him. He guessed it was something about kill-germs.

“What?”

Dick got an amused smile on his face. “He's asleep. He fell asleep on Damian's lap.”

Damian looked defensive. “Drake was really tired, because you all are morons who make a big fuss out of everything! Of course he fell asleep, it had nothing to do with me!”

“Fuss-King right here,” Jason said, rolling his eyes.

Cass was smiling.

Damian looked like he wanted to kill them all.

No one was going to say it aloud.

Except, of course, Jason. “Aw... you love Tim!” he mocked.

It was amazing they got Tim, still slumbering, into a bed... and saved Jason from dismemberment.

It was worth it, though, for that one moment of pure, snarling, and clearly embarrassed rage.


	6. Chapter 6

It was quiet without Tim, but it had been pretty quiet before, for the most part. Some people might be too tired to keep doing anything at this time of the night.

But, a bat brat's best time was nighttime, awake like their mentor's namesake. Or like their mentor, honestly.

“We need to get into the old Drake manor,” Dick said, rather suddenly as Jason filled up on the rich-people shit in the pantry. Yeah, it was 'normal' food, but it was the high quality stuff, and god knew he had to sometimes make do with grocery runs to corner stores and gas stations.

None of these shrimp chips or whatever the fuck they had.

“Why?” Jason asked, crunching.

Damian was frowning, kept looking up the stairs. When he saw Jason see him do it, though, he stopped. 

“Obviously because it's been untouched since his parents passed on, and there'll be all sorts of things we can find out,” Stephanie said, though she did stop to purse her lips a moment. “Though... Not like the stuff from when he was five will be there, right? It was years later that Bruce adopted him.”

“He better not have still had a binky at that age,” Jason grumbled to himself, not sure if he was blaming Tim or his parents.

Dick gave him that look. Well, fuck him, he wasn't his boss. “What we'll find... it might be hard to take. Or, it might be nothing. I don't know. But we should look anyway, so we can understand it better.”

Cass nodded. “I'll stay here and see if I can find out who Miss Nance is.”

Jason shifted uneasily. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know about Miss Nance. It was easy to dismiss her when she was a faceless name, some boogeyman in Tim's closet. Whatever she'd done, it seemed like she'd fucked Tim up, and the idea that she wasn't a ghost and gone like his parents... it was like Tim really was this child.

Which, of course he was. But it was temporary. Tim turned out all right, they all knew that. Dredging this up... he couldn't identify the negative emotion in his chest.

It would be like seeing his dad again. It would be painful, bring back memories of bruises and being left behind. 

Jason shook it off. He couldn't focus on this now.

“You should take the laptop into Tim's room,” Damian said, arms crossed over his chest.

They all stared at him.

Damian glared. “If he locks himself in again, I don't want to hear him acting like a baby and screaming his head off.”

Jason smirked to himself, but left it alone, as Cass nodded and Steph recommended putting the screen on the lowest brightness level.

They took off for the manor not long after, the four of them. Any one of them could have turned off the alarm systems and picked the lock, but they let Steph do it. She seemed to have a kind of nervous energy going on, which seemed much more anger than anything else. No one really wanted to be in her way.

Well, Damian might, cause Jason swore that kid probably felt uncomfortably warm looking at Steph in those particularly short shorts, but who was he to judge?

She _was_ hot, though really, too young for Jason. He liked to count the time that he was dead.

And it was time to change his train of thought.

“Hey. You got the door, or not?” he demanded, and Steph gave him a slight glare just as the door fell open.

“Yes, Jason, I do.”

Damian snickered, but Jason just went through the door.

The place was as big as the Wayne manor; huge landing before enormous stairs, chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the ceilings so high that Jason knew such a drop could easily kill someone. Even if you landed feet first, like you're supposed to, you'd at least break both legs.

A large portrait hung on the wall at the top of the stairs. It had Janet and Jack Drake, Tim's parents, and between them, a blandly smiling Tim. At least, it looked bland to Jason compared to the _real_ smiles he'd seen, the rare times he had caught Tim smiling.

He didn't know just how much he smiled, honestly. He tended to be tense or annoyed around Jason himself.

Damian looked irritable, moving among the cherry-wood cabinets on either side and into the main area. He kept glancing about, in that same way they did in an enemy hideout or something.

Well... it was probably drilled into the little brat by now.

“Damian, look out! A dust bunny!” Jason shouted, and Damian had instantly turned in the direction suggested by his gesture, but once he heard the words 'dust bunny', he growled and charged for Jason.

Well, roared would be the more accurate word, but either way, Dick had already tackled him away, saying, “Damian, stop, you can't kick his ass even if he is an ass.”

“Why not?” Damian growled, not entirely fighting Dick, but looking as tense as a coiled spring. If Dick moved out of the way, Jason could very well be in a bloody fight.

“Aw, Dick, you do care,” Jason said with a grin.

“Because it will leave evidence we were here,” Dick said flatly, looking pointedly at Jason as if to say, 'No, you are still a bad influence I don't want around my babies.'

Damian seemed to agree with that logic, though he did mutter rather violent things under his breath after Dick let him back up.

They moved along in a group. The dining room was filled with cabinets containing expensive crystalware, the kind rich people collected. Like, red and purple and pink and green... all that shit, with its bubbles and curves and other fancy stuff.

It was vintage or something. Old people liked them, as Jason recalled.

The kitchen was emptied of food, and was missing major appliances. They looked quietly, but there was little to be found in the kitchen too.

“Huh. Not even a fridge.”

Dick gave Jason a funny look. “Tim'll inherit it when he's an adult. With as long ago as his parents died, the estate executors would expect he'd want new appliances. Rich people and all that.”

“Yeah, fuck rich people,” Jason muttered, heading for the next room.

It had a huge TV (why no fridge and yet they left the massive TV, Jason didn't know), and stacks of movies. They seemed to be evenly divided between bloody action movies and historical/cultural movies. All the historical events depicted seemed to be dark, if the covers and the titles were anything to go off of.

Not even one slightly childish movie.

Jason could still remember the veritable wall of children's movies in the Wayne manor, some from back when Dick was a kid and converted from VHS to DVD. He couldn't even count how many times he'd watched Dumbo, his favorite (back then, not now). He loved the scene with Mama Jumbo reaching out of the cage and wrapping her trunk around Dumbo. Again, that was back then, not now. He had no feelings about animated elephants now.

Dick was beside him, he realized, and he was also frowning. “Hm.”

“Yeah. Nothing Tim would like here.”

Dick's brow creased just a little. “Maybe he took his movies with him.”

“No, he didn't,” Steph supplied, saying, “He told me once he hadn't wanted almost anything from his house. He brought a duffel bag and that was it. I thought he just didn't want reminders of his parents while he was grieving...”

The obvious conclusion was that he actually didn't have much more than went into the duffel bag, and did not dare, even with his parents in the grave, to take anything that wasn't his. Well, or Steph could be right... right?

Dick shifted a bit on his feet, then said, “Well, let's find his room. It should be obvious.”

They found the master bedroom first; it was very large, as could be expected of a mansion. The bed was as big as Bruce's, possibly bigger. Well, of course, Jason knew it was bigger; he'd basically gotten down the ability to sight-measure things.

That was sorta a requirement when you're jumping off buildings.

The bed was neatly made, a satiny comforter pulled over the top primly. Pictures hung on the walls; they were all of the couple, most of them fairly young. Probably the majority were before Tim was born.

There were a few of them that were clearly vacation shots, with Janet in a tankini and with palm trees in the background or the both of them holding expensive beers in some German tavern. Janet always looked put together, perfect supermodel face and smile combination going on, though she didn't quite look like a supermodel.

Jack had this big, white-toothed grin, this look that suggested he wanted to be having fun, wanted to insist his brain have a great time. Maybe he was, but Jason turned away with a sour feeling in his gut.

They exited the bedroom wordlessly.

It took a bit more searching than they would have liked. They found guest bedrooms pretty easily, pretty blue blankets turned up with starch white sheets. An utterly impersonal set of rooms, with the nice dresser and mirror set and a desk with a nice lamp on it.

Finally, at the end of the hallway, they discovered Tim's old room.

The door swung open easily, and Jason knew he was in Tim's room.

The bed was stripped, a bare mattress on an old wood frame. The dresser, a sort of dark cherry color, was pushed away from the wall, and there was a big hole in the drywall.

Before Jason could investigate that, though, Damian made a noise. Maybe annoyance, discontent, something.

He tapped the doorknob as they looked back at him, stating, “It locks on the outside. So did all the rooms in this hall but the master bedroom.”

Indeed, it did. It was a simple lock, but no keyhole on the other side or any means of picking it. Jason was a little startled when he'd moved the door to discover this, but he shouldn't have been: up to about his waist level, the lacquer on the door had been worn away. Not in an extreme way, but it was obvious.

He clenched his teeth at that. He could easily imagine Tim in here, little five year old Tim, doing the exact thing he had done when he'd thought himself trapped in the bathroom.

It made Jason want to shoot something. Preferably someone.

Dick had already moved to the hole in the drywall, and he had something of a wry smile on his face. 

“What? Was this where he hid his food?” Jason asked, coming closer.

Dick, in response, held up a scrap of fabric. It took Jason a moment, but the thick, yellow material was instantly recognizable.

“How the fuck did a little kid get a piece of your cape?” Jason wanted to know, running his hand through his hair.

“I think it was yours, actually,” Dick said, smirking a little. “Mine was a little brighter in color.”

“Oh, fuck you, don't make shit up,” Jason grumbled.

“Hey,” Stephanie said, leaning over the back of the dresser, “There's writing here.”

There was indeed, something scrawled out into the nice dresser's back. It had clearly been scratched in by something, though it would be very easy to do with this kind of lacquer.

It read, in childish handwriting, ' ~~177 Maple Avenue~~. WATCH. ~~34 Washington Lane~~. 2284 Whipple Drive.  WATCH' and 'Dick Grayson' followed by a heart, on two different parts. There was also an enormous amount of tallies, most of them consisting of three tallies in a group, but there was one ominous collection of about fifteen.

Stephanie looked uneasily at Dick.

Jason didn't even comment on the clear crush on Dick Grayson, the one in the most childish handwriting.

He was starting to see how exactly a 'rich, spoiled brat' could be in the state that Tim was in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote on my dresser, on the back. Also wrote and drew in the closet, particularly up at the top, cause my bunk bed allowed me to climb onto the shelf.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: It's a mega chapter; kinda couldn't sleep. Also, warning for sort of victim blaming and definite abuse justification, as well as descriptions of abuse. You might find it a bit disturbing, tbh, as it's abuse as explained by an abuser. Dark stuff ahead.

There was a little more searching of the room. Dick's best guess for the cleanliness was that Tim had been thorough in cleaning out this room before leaving it. It made sense; not a thing was in the dresser, not even like, candy wrappers or something. The closet was similarly empty, not even a light bulb in its socket.

Jason wondered what it had looked like before. Before the deaths of his parents, or before Tim got old enough for people to start to wonder where he was.

It made him a bit mad to think about, so he clenched his teeth (was that pain new? Goddamnit, that had better not be a cavity, god knew that Jason didn't have the necessary shit to get a proper filling!) and went on.

Damian disdainfully shut the door behind them.

“We need to talk to Tim about this,” Stephanie said rather calmly, though Jason could pick up the protective, angry vibes coming off of her. He wasn't sure who she was mad at, the parents and staff that must have collaborated, or herself for not knowing.

Dick sighed. “We don't want to traumatize him again. Maybe it would be best to let it lie. I mean, we still take care of him, get him through this, but we don't need to pry.”

Jason glared. “No. I want to know what precisely these fucks did to Tim.”

“And then what? Dig them up and turn them in to the police?” Dick said, though his tone was full of regret. “Jason, they're gone. There's no one to punish.”

“You don't know that; what about the nanny? She's guilty too, right?” Jason insisted, as they walked out of the house. Steph busily reset the alarms.

Dick seemed to consider this, before sighing. “We don't know her status. Jason, vengeance isn't going to solve anything--”

“Fuck you, of course it does! It teaches the fuckers not to do it again! It makes the victims feel safe for once!” Jason shouted back.

They weren't really in danger of being heard by anyone. The Drake manor was far removed from much of society, huge grounds, and chances were, no one was within hearing distance.

“Of course, you'd think that,” Dick muttered.

“Hey, Dickie-boy, you got your vengeance--”

“ _That_ was justice, not vengeance. The man who caused my parents' deaths was put in _jail_ , where he belonged, not this crusade you seem to think will solve everything! I know you, Jason, you're not turning anyone over to the police, you're solving this with blood.” Dick was cold-faced, glaring at Jason.

Jason practically growled. “Hey. Fuckface. Child abusers deserve to feel the terror they inflicted, and if this Miss Nance is alive, then she deserves whatever I deal out to her, for whatever hand she played in this!”

“That's not what we do, Jason!” Dick shouted back.

“But we should,” Damian said darkly. And when did he get that sword? Jason couldn't remember it being on his person when they came here, though granted, he wasn't looking closely.

Stephanie groaned. “Look, let's find out about Miss Nance before we decide on her punishment, okay? If we have enough evidence, we can turn her over to the law, and then that's that!”

Jason grumbled, and he could see Damian disagreed with Steph's take. But Dick was nodding in approval.

“We can't do anything without all the facts, and we are not judge, jury, and executioner. Understand?”

There was not quite an agreement, but things had been calmed down for now. They scurried back to the Wayne manor, and slipped inside.

There were some lights on on dim. Not surprising, given the time of the night and the previous low number of awake occupants.

Cass appeared like a shadow, laptop tucked under her arm. “I know.”

They were quick to gather in the living room once more, and the laptap was opened on the coffee table.

'Miss Nance' was actually a Mrs. Nancy Marie Walmesley nee Bonnet. She was not quite what Jason had pictured, either.

She had professionally pulled back hair in the picture, neatly done bun. Her eyebrows were plucked, but not in that overly done way; they looked natural but clean. Her skin was pale, clearly Caucasian, and she had the slightest hint of freckles across her nose.

Her eyes, though. They were brown, but they were like a chocolate brown and not mud brown. They were big, reflective...looked like trust and kindness.

She had the slightest of a smile on her lips, which were lightly colored in a color that was fashionable in Tim's childhood. Her sweater-turtleneck was just the right fit around her neck, and her shoulders were straight but relaxed.

In short, she looked like the nanny of any good parent's dreams.

Jason frowned. “You sure this is her?”

Cass gave him a look, saying drily, “Halo effect, Jason.”

“No, no, it's just... I don't know... she looks like she's Dick's age, at least in that picture...” Jason said uncertainly. 

“Yes. 21 at the time.” Cass flipped up information. 

Nancy had apparently gone through Gotham U's Nanny Diploma Program, graduated with honors though not the top student of her class. She was certified in Child and Infant CPR, First Aid, Water Safety, Positive Discipline, and Child Nutrition. 

As Cass scrolled down, more information came to light.

Nancy had served as nanny to one family, some uppercrust twits with a child just on the cusp of not needing a nanny, and then... the Drakes. She was there for six years, starting at of course, twenty-one and going on till twenty-eight (which was because of the odd math of the months involved, since it wasn't an even set of years). She stayed with them from the time of Tim's birth until he entered Kindergarten.

“Shouldn't Tim have entered Kindergarten before then?” Steph asked, brow crinkling.

Cass nodded. “He didn't pass their exam. They said he wasn't potty-trained.”

Jason let out a huff. “Well... let's hope he is potty-trained now.”

He didn't know what else to say. It wasn't exactly like the evidence was piling up. “What ended her gig? The Drakes notice abuse?”

Cass shook her head. “She was let go because they thought he didn't need her anymore. They gave her glowing recs, and... she still does this for a living.”

Jason thought he might hurl. “You checked criminal, right? I mean, it's been years--”

“Nothing but a single speeding ticket,” Cass responded, and there was that deep frown between her brows. “Nothing.”

“Maybe she didn't hurt him,” Jason suggested tentatively. “Maybe it's a mistake.”

“You've seen him, Jason. How could he get that way except through _someone_ treating him horribly?” Steph demanded, “And she's supposed to take care of him at all times, right? So, either she ignored it all while someone else did it, or, more likely, she was heavily involved!”

“She hurt him.” Cass said this flatly, certainly. 

Cass knew. She always knew, it seemed. Jason would have to accept it. “Okay. Okay. But how do we find out what she did?”

“She lives on... 2284 Whipple Drive. She's a daytime nanny--”

“That's the address on the back of the dresser!” Steph said, looking sharply at Dick. “Tim was keeping tabs on her!”

Dick was quiet a moment.

There was no doubt now that Tim feared Nancy, and there was no doubt that he had good reason. Jason was having a harder time than he would have liked reconciling the kind face with the pain Tim had experienced. He knew, knew in his head, that people could look any which way and it didn't mean they were good or bad. But his stupid feelings were so easily manipulated.

“Current picture, Cass,” he said, a bit more sharply than he wanted to.

A woman in her thirties or early forties appeared on the screen. She looked just as kind, just as pretty, just more mature. Jason groaned to himself. People who looked like good people still did bad things. They did. He knew this.

“Well... we'd better pay Mrs. Walmesley a visit, in any case,” Dick said, and there was a hard edge to his tone. Like this visit would not only be hard on them, but hard on Nancy—and rightfully so.

Jason focused on the picture. This was the person who helped fuck up Tim-Tam. This person had willfully hurt a child in her care, one who couldn't have known how wrong she was at the time.

He found the hate growing as he looked at it more, saw more and more a demon hiding in the curve of her smile and the shine of her eyes. _This_ was the woman who ruined a child.

A scent struck Jason's nose. He instantly recognized the smell of piss, and turned to look at the stairway; they all did.

Tim stood there, in the nice footie pajamas that Bruce had once worn...and there was an obvious, large wet patch. He had clearly been about to step off the step, as soundless as ever, when he saw them and frantically ran back up the stairs. He had not seen the five year old Tim move quite so fast before, little noises making it past the pacifier; they were clearly distressed, fear.

Damian was already running after him, and Stephanie was instantly on his heels, shouting, “Damian, no! Don't you dare do anything!”

They heard a shriek of fear, and Dick and Jason were bounding up the stairs too.

Tim was clearly sobbing when they reached him and Damian, repeating, “Sorry, sorry, sorry--”

But Damian was gingerly picking him up by the armpits, sour expression on his face. “Drake, be quiet. You are in need of a bath, and you will get one or I will--”

“Don't threaten him! Let me handle it,” Stephanie said, just a little ways away from Damian and Tim.

“That's gross, you're a girl!” Damian snapped back, adding, “Besides, none of you are capable of bathing a child. Do you even know what tear-free shampoo is?”

“Damian, we were all kids, we know what tear-free shampoo is!” Stephanie snapped at him.

“I bathe Tiberius all the time,” Damian sniffed, “Drake can't be more of a problem than Tiberius.” Probably some attempt at teaching Damian to do domestic chores by Bruce. Still, Jason felt sorry for the dog.

“Did you just literally compare a small child to a dog?” Jason asked, shaking his head and whistling.

Dick shook his head. “Damian, he needs compassion, and I'm afraid--”

“No, what he needs is a bath! You can smell that, can't you?” Damian demanded, as Tim squirmed and tears were clearly coming from his eyes, though more quietly than before. He wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, despite clearly being uncomfortable in Damian's grip. However, Damian was pretty much a ninja, so there was no escaping through Tim's own power.

“Let me--” Steph started, but Dick cleared his throat, saying softly,

“Probably a bad idea, Steph.”

Fortunately, at that moment, they were rescued by the appearance of Alfred. The experienced butler said, gently, to Damian, “I can handle it from here, Master Damian. I've a lifetime of experience bathing children, even bedwetters.”

He carefully took Tim from Damian, the small child letting out a fearful, “Please, 'm sorry!”

“I would never hurt you, Master Timothy,” Alfred assured, “You are not in trouble. It's perfectly normal for a boy your age to still have bladder control problems.” Alfred actually put the boy against his body, rather than holding him out and away, seemingly not caring about getting piss on his clothes.

“Ew,” Damian commented.

“Oh come on, you've seen grosser things,” Jason said, with a roll of his eyes.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Dick said with a nod.

Tears still dripped down Tim's face, and it made Jason's heart clench again. “Tim-Tam, it's okay. Nobody's mad.”

“'m real so sorry,” Tim insisted, seeming to cower a bit against Alfred.

Alfred turned, and, apparently Damian had hit a bookcase in his chase after Tim, or Tim had, or anyway, someone had compromised the balance.

A book fell, landing with a loud slapping sound.

Tim screamed, covering his head and trying to wriggle free at the same time. “Please, please, so sorry, please, 'm sorry--!”

Dick appeared, ever so good at all this shit, and, somehow not caring about the piss either, took Tim in his arms. “Hey, hey babybird... it's okay. It's okay, you're safe, I promise. That was just a book, it's all right.”

And, astonishingly, Tim latched. His hands gripped the front of the jacket Dick was wearing, and he sobbed into Dick's chest. It was still an awkward hold, still not the curled-arm latch of a child constantly held, but it was there.

And Jason wondered how Dick had such power. What he had that attracted Tim to him in this way, that made him trustworthy.

He'd probably never know for sure.

Tim calmed down eventually, and Damian volunteered to keep watch while Alfred gave him his bath.

It was a dark look Dick had as soon as Tim was gone.

“We're seeing this Walmesley woman.”

Damn right. Damn right they were going to turn this woman's world upside down as much as she had done to Tim's.

The crew gathered, minus Damian, who probably would have been a liability anyway, and they took off.

Whipple Drive was a family type street, with two-story houses and pretty front gardens. It was a ways from the main part of Gotham, practically suburbs. Jason glared at the domestic little houses, seeing toys on the lawns and sidewalks that were bright white concrete. None of that gum and garbage shit going on.

The house that had the number on it was not particularly noticeable, at least not among its neighbors. It had shutters on the windows, though decorative and not closed, a big suncatcher hanging in one of the paned windows in the front, and a front garden with mums everywhere.

They parked the car on the street; it was a normal car, and they were in their normal clothes. Jason had voted for costumes and scaring the shit out of the bastardess, but he'd been voted down.

As they approached up the gray-concrete pathway, Jason could see a statue of a fairy in the garden; he could make out gnomes on the porch. And, damningly, a pair of flower-patterned rubber boots on the porch, clearly child-size.

His anger must have been radiating, because Dick turned to him and Steph and said, “You two stay out here.”

“What? The fuck, Dick, why the hell--”

“You two are most likely to lose it, and four people are too threatening. Cass can pick up the most information, and I am the most levelheaded. I _don't_ want either of you maiming or killing her or anybody else,” Dick said, firmly, no-negotiation tone.

Stephanie was seething. “You can't be serious! I should be there, Tim is my--”

“Steph. You both can observe through the window, okay? I'm not preventing you, and I brought a bug so you can listen, okay? We can't make her feel cornered, or she'll become like a desperate animal,” Dick said, and he tossed them a radio. At least, it was the listening end of a bug; Jason forgot the actual name of it.

They were steaming, for once united.

But Steph relented first, snapping, “Fine, but you'd better not let her weasel her way out!”

“Fuck you, Dick,” Jason grumbled. If they fought out here, he knew enough to know that it would ruin any chance at apprehending Nancy Walmesley.

Goddamnit, he wanted to see this woman, wanted to understand why the hell she would do anything to Tim! How the fuck was he supposed to do that when he was watching through the window and listening on a device?

But he and Steph semi-obediently went into observation mode.

Fuck Dick.

Cass and Dick walked up to the door. They rang the doorbell. They had to ring it about ten times before the door eased open, a woman's voice saying, “Hold your horses! I'm only so fast!”

It was her. Undeniably her. Her voice was that of a warm soccer mom, maybe a slightly irritable one at being awakened in the middle of the night. Well, it served them; she'd be disoriented.

But nothing in Jason's gut crawled. Nothing indicated this woman was a psycho child abuser, nothing about the way she stood at the door in her nightgown and robe and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at them like a mother might look at her teenage child's friends.

“Hello, Mrs. Nancy Walmesley?” Dick asked, as if he needed to be sure.

“Yes, that's me,” she said, confusion evident on her face. She suddenly went pale. “Is Frank—is he all right? Did something happen at work?”

“No. We'd like to talk to you,” Dick said, and Jason's gut boiled. How dare she act like a normal person. She wasn't a normal person, she was a child abuser, she was evil incarnate; he should be at least getting creepy vibes off of her.

“Can it wait til morning?” she yawned, “Lilia and Nadia will be up in a few hours for school—they're my daughters, they're five and seven. Elementary school, and I've got work not too long after; I'm a--”

“Nanny. We know,” Dick said, and how the hell was he staying so calm?

“Is something wrong with the Davises?” she asked.

“We're here to talk about Timothy Drake,” Dick replied, and there, there, she went completely stiff, something that Cass must have noticed like a blaring siren; then, she relaxed, and stepped out onto the porch, thank god. She shut the door behind her, glancing in and saying, 

“My girls are sleeping on the couch; up too late watching Tinkerbell. I don't want to wake them up.”

She shifted out onto the porch, arms crossed over her chest. “So, what's this about Timothy? Is he all right?”

She had a lot of fucking nerve, that woman. _Is he all right?_ If Jason had been over their and Steph had not been cutting off circulation in his wrist, he would have punched her.

“We know you were his nanny,” Dick said, somehow calm, “We want to know what happened during your time with him.”

She sighed, shifting from foot to foot. A failed attempt at looking casual. “Timothy was... he was a poor child. Developmentally disabled, I think. Kind of a strange kid, but I did my best; it was a rough job. He was slower than all the other kids in his grade, prone to outbursts and imaginative adventures.”

“Mm. I see. In what ways was he strange?”

She looked at Dick like he was crazy, like she'd just explained. “Well, there was the bedwetting; in fact, he didn't learn how to use a toilet until about five and a half. Well, not consistently. Didn't eat enough, no matter what I did—I think he had some sort of allergy.”

Dick just nodded for her to continue.

“Anti-social behavior. He actively avoided people, avoided talking much—he really had no social skills, despite my best efforts. I think he might have been autistic, honestly. But that imagination! He was always coming up with big stories—tall tales, you know. Making up all kinds of things. I really hate to think of him this way, but... there really was no way to get him to, you know, tell the truth. He always had to make up some big, dramatic tale. The counselor said it might be some sort of personality disorder, not sure which one. It's been a while.”

Some of this fit the Tim they'd seen, Jason knew that. He was starting to wonder: what if she was telling the truth? But then he remembered the tallies, the rubbing away on the door, the way Tim acted—there was no way. 

Dick seemed to have had enough of this bullshit. “Right now he's being treated for past abuse. Tell me, what do you know about that?”

“Abuse?” she stopped a moment, but then on went her marshmallow sweet voice, “Oh... It's hard to talk about, even now. I kind of consider it the shame of my career as a nanny. I should've gotten out when I could, but... I didn't want to leave little Timmy.”

Dick gestured for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. “Well, you see... the Drakes, Janet and Jack... they were pretty bad parents. I know now that it's called neglect and it's criminal, but I didn't know that then. They rarely interacted with him, and when they did... well, spanking's not illegal, and neither is locking someone in a room, if they're your child, right? I did my best to offset it, be kind to Timmy, but they had a lot of rules to follow. They really didn't care much about Timmy.”

“I see.” Dick glanced over at Cass, and she must have given him the signal, the sign of whether or not Nancy was lying.

“If they didn't care much about Tim, why all the rules? If he supposedly might have had allergies and autism, why no testing, but there was enough interaction with a counselor to consider a personality disorder? If they were almost never around, how is it that Tim ended up with severe issues related to abuse? If a child under your care was locked in a room for a long time, say, three days or more, how could you not intervene?” Dick shot these questions at Nancy fast, adding, looking like this one was hard, “And why...does he show signs of sexual trauma?”

Nancy stuttered a moment. She glanced around, and started saying, “You're taking my words out of context—what I really meant--”

“Stop lying,” Cass said flatly, and the threatening glare must have been enough to scare the woman.

Nancy looked at them. She seemed to see that she could not lie anymore, and ran her hands through her brown hair in despair. She sighed heavily.

“This is my deepest, darkest secret. I...I never wanted anyone to know.”

“Tim knows,” Dick said, a complete lack of sympathy.

She nodded, with a sigh. “I...I was... lonely. And the Drakes, they were definitely abusive—but they didn't do it themselves. I couldn't risk the job, I was new enough that if they said I was a bad nanny, I would be ruined. I don't have other skills; I don't have something else I'd like to do. I love children.”

Cass gave a slight nod to Dick.

“Keep talking,” Dick said sternly.

She let out a breath. “Look... they were some cold people. They didn't want a child, though why they bothered carrying him to term and keeping him, I don't know. Maybe they changed their minds at some point, not long after he was born. Anyway, they hated when he made noise, hated when he acted like an actual child... they made rules as he grew older, rules I was supposed to follow.”

“And you did,” Dick said, flatly.

“Yes. They sometimes did things themselves. Like, for example, they locked him up in his room or a guest room whenever he was 'too loud.' I had to do it too, even when they were gone. They always seemed to know when I didn't. And food—food was heavily regulated, he wasn't allowed to eat whenever he wanted. I was encouraged to take away his food if he displayed bad manners, something as little as holding his fork wrong or opening his mouth while chewing. I also was told to let him cry himself out—they called it self-soothing. And I guess it worked, because eventually he barely even cried.”

Jason winced at that. He still didn't like Nancy, didn't find her story to be adding up. Cass had to know for sure, though.

“And you didn't hold him?” Dick said, asked, one or the other.

Nancy shook her head. “No. Pretty much never.”

Cass was obviously sending Dick signals with her eyes, and they weren't as good at communicating as some of the bat brats, but Dick must have read it, because he continued, “Tell us more. Why wasn't he potty trained until five and a half?”

She let out a small laugh, but not humorous. “Oh, he was. He figured it out pretty fast. I guess he was eager to get out of diapers. But... they didn't want him entering school quite yet, so I gave him juice—a lot of juice. Too much juice. That kid adored juice, since he never got it, and he drank until I was sure he would burst. Then, I took him in to the orientation, and held his hand tightly. He couldn't get away to use the toilet, and with how much he drank, he lost control of his bladder.”

Sick fuck. How twisted was making someone wet themselves in public, even if it was a five year old child? Jason was sure Stephanie was going to dislocate his wrist at this point.

“He also wet the bed. A lot. He'd always try to hide it, but my instructions were to spank him—understand, he was rarely spanked except then. He wasn't terribly abused, there are no scars or lasting injuries,” Nancy insisted, “I mean, I am sure now it was wrong, but at the time, I was lost. I thought it was just a different style of parenting. Oh, and the pacifier—I knew from my training that he really shouldn't have it past, mm, three... but he just seemed to need it. It was one of the few things that they didn't make rules for, so I didn't bring it up.”

Dick nodded. “Thanks for all the information. Cass, tell her what you know.”

“That's a load of bullshit,” Cass replied, making Nancy stiffen in fear. “You were half-lying the whole time. Best lies have some truth.”

Wait, what was she lying about? Goddamnit, how were they supposed to know what was true? Jason's nerves were on fire, he itched to shoot someone, preferably the Drakes. Fuck them being dead, throw them in the Lazarus pit and bring them the fuck back, he'd make sure their new lives didn't last long.

How could anyone do this to a child? How could anyone participate in such a system?

It was like an avalanche on his head.

“Miss Nance,” Dick said pointedly, threateningly, “You will tell us the truth, and you will tell us now. No lies.”

“Okay, okay! I-I kind of invented the system—Okay, I did! I invented it!” Nancy said, a little frantically as Cass slid into an attack stance.

Fucking hell. Jason wanted to shoot Nancy, wanted to do something to make her pay.

“They were definitely neglectful, and they did want me to make him self-soothe and all that—basically, they said 'Sit in the house and make sure he doesn't die'--easiest job I'd ever had! I just—got a bit carried away! It was just me and him in that house, you don't know what that kind of isolation does to you!” Nancy insisted, “And I didn't do anything his parents wouldn't've wanted anyway, they're the ones who started with locking doors and the regulated feeding schedule!”

Cass gave her another sharp look, and she admitted,

“They weren't the ones who wanted him to miss a year—I did that to keep my job! If he didn't make it into Kindergarten, I had a whole nother year—it was great pay, easy as hell, easy order anything I needed or wanted, and-and I just... I didn't realize what I was doing. I was an idiot, okay? I just... I reformed after that, I never hurt another kid again!”

“'Idiots' don't systematically abuse a kid for six years,” Dick growled.

“It was really only three or four,” she insisted.

“There is one thing you haven't explained: the sexual abuse,” Dick said, and it still sickened Jason's stomach just to hear that out loud.

He had to be wrong, it had to be a mistake, maybe they'd misread--

Nancy looked like she was teared up. “I... I was lonely. Lonely as all hell. And, and I was stupid, and hooked on porn, and I thought—I just—it was the stupidest thing I've ever done, the worst, and I broke myself of it, no more kids after that, I swear! Look, he was never hurt, I was always gentle, he probably doesn't even really remember--”

Cass was the one to lose it first, snapping a punch into Nancy's face. “He fucking remembers.”

Nancy was crying loudly. “Please, I'm sorry! Don't ruin my life, I've got a family now, a good job, good home—I'm a good person, I never did that to anyone else, it was a one time thing!”

“Stretched out over several years,” Dick said, voice obviously strained from not attacking the woman. “You sound really sorry about what you did to Tim—scratch that, you sound really sorry about what it getting out could do to your life!”

Nancy sobbed piteously. No one pitied her. “I n-never meant to h-hurt him! I n-never _really_ forced him!”

Not a word about how Tim was hurt. Not a word asking if he was all right.

It was fucking infuriating to Jason, to see the utter lack of care. And yet, the woman was so pathetic...

“Please don't tell anyone, I've put my horrible past behind me--”

“Well, Tim hasn't! It's still there, every day, affecting his life!” Dick shouted back. Nancy cringed, babbling pleas.

“I never hurt anyone else!”

“You hurt one person too many!” Dick looked like he was near murdering the woman. Cass was tense, ready to strike.

Jason pried Stephanie's hand off with a smothered cry of pain. “Goddamnit, Steph!”

Stephanie stood, stalking up to the porch. She gave a glare that was the opposite of Cass's icy look, staring down Nancy until she was quivering on the floor of the porch.

“Fuck you. Fuck you and your fucking pedophile shit!” 

“I'm not a pedophile,” Nancy whimpered.

“We should make you suffer just as much as you made him suffer!” Stephanie shouted, and her fists were clenched, her body tense as hell, her eyes murderous. “Since we don't have time to destroy your psyche, how about just a near-death beating?”

“Steph!” Dick put out a hand, as Nancy cringed and whimpered like a beaten dog. “Wait. I want to see her bloody too, but that makes us just as bad! What would Batman say?”

“Batman doesn't give a fuck!” Stephanie shouted back.

Jason raced up to the porch then, snapping, “Dick, come on, don't be a fucking Boy Scout!”

“The law. She'll suffer in prison,” Cass said certainly. “No one likes child molesters there.”

Dick nodded.

“You have no evidence!” Nancy insisted frantically, “I left no marks, no scars, nothing!”

Dick held up his recording device. “I'm afraid not. You just confessed to it all, Nance.”

She paled. Then she tried to run.

Jason got the satisfaction of catching her unnecessarily hard in the midsection—nothing damaging, just painful and the kind that knocked the wind out of the person.

Dick put her under arrest, and though they all itched to beat her, to do something to make her feel the same pain, even though Jason was pretty much certain that their odds of getting justice—or vengeance—were better in their own hands than in the law's, they surrendered her to the police, along with the confession and a promise of Tim's testimony.

They'd surely figure it out long before the court date.

They piled back into the car, sickened, in pain for Tim, but relieved.

Except for Jason. He had a pretty bad feeling about how it would go. 

Still. Best to get back to Tim-Tam and see how he was doing. Poor kiddo was probably a mess by now, with Damian watching over him.

They returned home quickly.

They opened the door quietly, slipping in. Jason still wanted to kill something, intending to go to the gym (which was small compared to a professional gym, but what do you want, it's a fucking gym in a house) and beat the shit out of whatever was available--

But they froze at the sight on the couch.

Damian was not frowning. What appeared to be some sort of colorful show on TV was playing, with a lot of soothing music. What he was doing, not so much watching the TV, was gently rubbing circles in a simple looping pattern on Tim's stomach as the five year old sprawled across his lap, binky in his mouth but no apparent sucking going on.

Damian spotted them, and instantly turned red, growling, “It aids digestion and he was whining! What you want me to do, have to listen to it?”

They didn't call him out this time. Dick said simply, “It's done. Tim's abuser is arrested. All we have to do now is get Tim back to normal and wait for the court date.”

Damian nodded, not stopping in what he was doing. Tim looked sort of blissed out, the first time that Jason had seen such a face on him. It calmed some of the rage in him, and he sighed.

“Well, I guess Damian's right: he does know how to handle kids better than us.”

“Shut up, Todd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I hope this isn't bad. I based it some on justifications I've heard from an opportunistic sexual abuser I knew; the rest, a power trip, basically.
> 
> Difference between opportunistic and predatory sexual abusers: predatory actively seeks out children to harm, whereas opportunistic realizes they can and do it. Nancy is clearly an opportunistic, influenced by a porn addiction and general low self-esteem and loneliness. It's sick as fuck, but that's often a motivator for non-pedophilic abusers.
> 
> Halo effect: the effect of good looks on judgement. This refers to people assuming good looking people are better somehow, generally in the sense that they are more 'good'.
> 
> Cause, frankly, a lot of child abusers, possibly the majority, do not look like the creepy stalkers we see on TV and such. They tend not to be strangers, but overwhelmingly are close to the child, generally related, very often a parent or sibling. You might not know ever about what they did or are still doing, because these people tend to have at least enough charm and cleverness to cover their tracks. I know this can slip right by you, because it's happened in my family. People who abuse children don't go around sniggering and making creepy eyes at the child. They blend right in as caregivers and friends of the children they abuse, much of the time.
> 
> Anyway, long chapter, long end note, I guess. This is not over! There shall be more to come.


	8. Chapter 8

To say Batman was not pleased was the understatement of the century. When he finally emerged from the Batcave, both Damian and Tim were fast asleep on the couch, one of Tim's hands unknowingly clenched in Damian's shirt as if to keep him there.

Hell, Jason was near falling asleep, curled up in a chair as the screen was still lit up with the menu from the weird show that Damian had put in the DVD player. He straightened up immediately on seeing Batman, glancing over towards Tim reflexively.

Batman was probably seething. He said, voice a muted reprimand, “What were you thinking?”

He was facing Dick, but he was addressing everyone.

“Put a fucking child abuser into prison...? I dunno, something like that,” Jason said, not able to fight the yawn in the end of the sentence.

“We were trying to provide closure, understand what happened, and protect other potential victims,” Dick said solemnly, though there was the slightest hint of defiance in his tone.

“Yeah! We love Tim, and he doesn't deserve for her to get off scot-free!” Stephanie declared, only tempering her tone when Tim's foot twitched.

Undoubtedly, Damian was already awake, but feigning sleep. Good move, Batman wouldn't get mad at him while he was sleeping and seemingly not involved.

Batman's face was dark, as he said flatly, “Tell me, Dick: when did this abuse take place?” 

“Until he was six years old, so--”

“Dick, how old is he now? His actual, chronological age?”

Dick seemed to be a bit irritable at the questioning. “Sixteen.”

Batman's voice was dark as he said, “In your haste for vengeance, you seem to have forgotten he is not actually five, and not in danger. Dick, it has been ten years since that woman hurt him. Please, tell me what the statute of limitations is in New York.”

Dick paled at that. “...oh. Oh, shit.”

Jason stared. “Statute of limitations?”

Stephanie, however, was looking equally dismayed, and Cass looked between those two for an answer.

“Wait!” Dick seemed to be digging through his own head. “The statute of limitations doesn't exist in New York--”

“Unless it's treated as an intentional tort, which this one will be, undoubtedly. The statute of limitations on sexual abuse against a minor, if treated as an intentional tort, is one year.”

Dick's face contorted, saying, “Wait, that can't be right! Doesn't it start after he turns eighteen? That's got to be--”

“Proposed law. Shot down. New York has the world's worst statute of limitations,” Batman said gruffly. 

Dick was silent a moment, as emotions started bubbling in Jason's chest. Was Batman saying that they couldn't actually get Nancy _any_ legal punishment for her crimes...? He couldn't be.

“I don't believe you,” Dick finally said. This sent a shockwave throughout the room, and Stephanie and Cass exchanged looks. “Cass. Is he lying?”

Cass's lip twitched, and she admitted, “...yes.”

“The fuck!” Jason shouted, “The fuck is wrong with you, Bruce?”

Dick looked near murderous. “Explain. Now.”

Batman was impassive, as always. “The truth is that he has until he's twenty-three to report. It wasn't always the case, and would not be the case had it happened with a teacher at his school or if some other institution were involved.”

“Why the fuck would you lie about that?” Jason demanded, up and out of the chair and ready to fight. His anger felt like a snarling beast in his chest, ready to burst out and kill Batman.

Dick said, “Yes. I think we deserve to know what's going on in that head.” He didn't say 'fucked up head', but it was implied.

Batman actually dropped the cowl, looking at all of them seriously. His eyes held a sternness, a sort of 'this is the cold reality' hardness to them. “Think about what you will put Tim through. For one thing, we don't know this age thing is reversible, and there is absolutely no doubt he will be called on to testify, as the accused has the right to face their accuser. Even if we get him back to his true age, what good do you think this will do? She was an opportunistic abuser, and not a pedophile--”

“That's bullshit! Fuck this, why the hell are you so calm about this?” Jason shouted, clenching his fists and about ready to go off on the Batman.

At that, Tim came awake with a whimper, and Damian came alive instantly as the tiny child's blue eyes looked about in fear. He flipped Tim over onto his stomach and started rubbing his back. “Go back to sleep, Drake.” He was frowning deeply, but had nothing to add to the argument.

At any other time, Jason might've had a comment about the relative domesticity of it all, but right then he was seething. Furious that Batman would dismiss the idea of justice for Tim.

Batman said, flatly, “If you'll let me finish. Nancy Walmesley shows no indication of continuing abuse, and has in fact kept herself removed from situations where she might abuse again. She only nannies older girls, and only as a daytime nanny, rather than a live-in. She is not a pathological abuser.

“Besides which, Tim is not just my son and your brother. He is also a crimefighter who needs to keep a low profile. If he hasn't told us about this as his mature self, then there is no doubt he has no interest in pursuing it.”

They were staring, unsure.

Cass was the first to speak. “You knew. You knew about Nancy!”

Jason gaped openly. 

Dick's glare was accusatory. “Bruce--”

“I did not know at the time he was being abused,” Batman said, “But, yes, I have known his history since he first approached me about being Robin.”

Meanwhile, Tim was struggling against Damian's attempts to keep him on his lap, and so Damian tentatively turned him so he was flush against his chest, and kept rubbing his back, like he was a baby that needed burping. “Calm down, Drake, it's all right.”

“And you didn't even, I don't know, try to talk to him about it or get him counseling?” Dick demanded, sounding like he wanted to put his hands on Batman's neck and squeeze. Hard.

Well, that was what Jason was imagining, anyway, combined with probably kneeing him in the balls. If he thought he could get close enough, could beat the Bat, he might've done it.

Batman gave Dick a stolid look. “I did. I approached him at one point, suggested seeing someone...he turned me down. He didn't want to dwell--”

“You mean he was too scared to face his past and you just let it go! He _needed_ someone, and you just-just _gave up_ after one tiny comment! Urgh! Why are you so-so-so--!” Steph was flipping out. 

“Emotionally constipated? Distant? A horrible father? An asshole? Take your fucking pick,” Jason growled, hand clenching on the back of the chair he'd been in. Maybe he and Dick and Steph could take Batman—throw Cass in there, and he was certain they could...

“I did what was best for Tim,” Batman seemed to growl back, as he said, “Think about what you've done to him now!”

“Oh, and what's that? Gave him fucking closure?” Jason demanded, and yes, it would be fucking great to smash his fist into those stern blue eyes. Maybe Batman would look better with some swelling.

“No. You've forced him to confront something he obviously doesn't want to confront. Once this case is opened, there is no closing it. There is no going back if he's not ready. He has to either prosecute now, or drop the case. Forever. He will have to go into court and face his abuser, when it should have been his choice whether or not to prosecute. He was supposed to have years to decide; you've decided for him.” Batman turned to leave, a stern look on his face. “I hope he decides to forgive you when he's back.”

“No, you don't,” Jason grumbled.

But as Batman left, the others were looking around the room. Like they weren't sure if they'd done the right thing.

Fucking hell, of course they'd done the right thing! 

“Hey. Don't go getting all weird on me now,” Jason warned, “You guys, she's a _child abuser_ , of course we did the fucking right thing! What if she got away with it? What if she abused some other kid?”

Dick ran his hands through his hair, a stressed gesture. “Of course. Of course we did the right thing. Batman just doesn't get it.”

“She hurt Tim. She deserves it,” Steph said firmly. She did glance over at Tim, who was currently sucking vigorously on his pacifier and had clenched a hand in Damian's hair as the other rubbed his back.

“I'm glad you did it,” Damian said, somewhat darkly. “Evil women deserve to die.”

“Uh, she's not going to die, Damian,” Jason said, a little surprised by his lack of knowledge. “She's going to probably go to jail.”

“Then what was the point? You should have just killed her,” Damian said grumpily, getting a little more forceful in his rubbing. Tim whimpered, and he slowed down.

“Damian, we don't kill people--” Dick started.

“Todd does! We should just have him do it!” Damian insisted, 

“That's not justice, Damian, that's vengeance,” Dick said gently. This made Damian be quiet, and go back to soothing Tim.

Tim's eyelids were doing that thing where he fought to keep them open, but they kept drifting down. It was kind of adorable.

“So... you just gonna rub Tim-Tam all night?” Jason asked, finally commenting on the way that Damian seemed determined to care for Tim. It was really different, considering their relationship when Tim was his actual age.

“Todd, I will kill you.”

“No, but, seriously, what's with all that? You're treating him like you care about him and shit. I mean, you guys kinda hate each other. So, what gives?”

“-tt-. I wouldn't expect you to understand, Todd, as you have an abnormally small brain, shriveled up by tobacco use.” Damian was glaring rather balefully now, as if daring him to keep pressing.

“Hey, smoking is not a--”

“Jason.” Dick was cutting in now. “You're going to cause a fight. Why doesn't everyone go to bed, and we'll figure this out in the morning. I can call in a family emergency, I think, and we can all be here for Tim. Okay?”

Jason groaned. “Fine. _Fine._ Whatever you want, Dickie-bird.”

Dick didn't say something like, 'For the love of god, stop calling me that,' though it looked like he wanted to.

Steph came over, and tentatively ruffled Tim's hair. She looked pained, like she wanted to show more affection, but wasn't sure what it would do. Cass also came over, and after a moment's reflection, pressed a kiss to the back of Tim's head.

They wished him a good night, and went to their respective rooms. Or maybe together, chicks did weird stuff like that, Jason wasn't really sure.

He shuffled over, and despite Damian's glare, patted Tim on the back. “You sleep, and sleep well, kay, Timmers?”

There was a small huff sort of noise in the affirmative, it seemed. Jason smiled despite himself, and ruffled the kid's hair. “Night, Tim.”

He knew Bats probably wouldn't let him stay the night, but Alfred would, and so all he had to do was rig an alarm on the door. Not unlike some of his other accommodations. Sides, Bats would be pretty busy all night. He could risk it.

He shuffled up the stairs, but stopped to listen.

He could make out Dick talking to Damian, asking him carefully and sensitively why he was treating Tim this way.

“Because none of you know what you're doing,” at first, Damian insisted. But Dick kept pressing, kept trying to find the answer, and Damian's real reason actually made Jason feel sorry for the kid.

“Because I wish...this is what I wanted, at his age. I just... that's it.”

Jason decided now was the time to duck out, and hightailed it to his room.

A suitable alarm and booby trap was rigged, and he sank into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! :D And there shall be more drama indeed. I struggled a little with Batman in this one, but I hope he kinda comes across right. I like writing the interplay between the sibs much better, in some ways.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast goes very well, but Jason reaches a decision by the end.

Morning came without a warning. It was like the sun simply slipped into the sky as normal, like nothing had happened.

Jason came awake to brightness pushing past the curtains, a small headache but nothing like the one or two times he'd gotten drunk. He still regretted those times; being drunk made him out of his own control, and he hated drunkards in general. 

He walked to the door, discovering his booby trap quite intact, and smiled to himself. Well, that much was fucking delightful; no one had attacked him while he was sleeping. 

Normal families certainly didn't worry about such a thing, but hey, like he had much choice at this point.

He removed the traps and actually got a shower (imagine, hot water as long as he wanted) and probably used someone else's shampoo and other shit. But on the upside, he was going to smell like coconut all day, and he was damned pleased with that, as it was much better than the 'been fighting criminals all night' sort of aroma.

Now, he needed to check on Tim-Tam. He wasn't sure if he'd been avoiding it or not. Obviously not. He just knew that Tim was quite safe with Dick and yes, even Damian, watching over him.

He made it downstairs to see that yes, the others were up, might've been up for a little bit.

They were clustered around the table, and Tim was stuffing his face with what appeared to be Steph's waffles. The girl adored waffles, and she made them much better than Alfred...but don't ever tell Alfred. Ever. Jason would have to cut a bitch who told the old man that.

Tim looked up on seeing Jason, and offered a tiny smile. He was seated in the most ancient high chair that Jason had ever seen in such good condition. Typically, where he came from, high chairs, if they even were possessed by the baby-maker in question, were crappy plastic, falling apart, stained things—and if they were metal (that's some old-ass shit right there) they were rusting and ugly colors.

Wait...that wasn't a high chair. Baby terminology, come on...booster seat. That was it. The kind that strapped a kid in.

Though, it looked like Tim wasn't strapped in, thank god. He couldn't imagine that going well.

Wait a second... Tim _smiled_?

Jason found himself staring.

Tim offered the smile again, more hesitantly. “G'mornin, Jaybird.”

“Who the fuck told him to--” Jason started, but at the look on Tim's face, quickly cut himself off, and smiled back. “Yeah. Good morning, Timmers.”

It seemed Tim was adjusting. Maybe he was less in shock than last night. Maybe he felt really, really safe with Damian and Dick and stuff.

“'s m'name,” Tim confided in Damian.

Damian sighed. “No, your actual name is Timothy Drake. 'Timmers' and 'Tim-Tam' and yes, even 'Tim,' are nicknames.” He didn't seem too testy about it, devouring a waffle.

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, promptly smearing butter and syrup all over his face.

Jason shook his head. “Come on, guys, this is pathetic... You know Tim prefers jam on his waffles.”

Dick smirked that, as if to say, 'So you're in on the big brother thing too, huh?' Jason pointedly ignored him, and set to spreading the jam on the table, blueberry, on the nearest waffle.

Steph appeared from the kitchen with another plate of waffles, and fuck all if they weren't just the damn picture of domesticity. Cass was quietly eating a large stack of waffles, drenched in her favorite: boysenberry syrup. Good stuff, that. Jason had confused it for 'poisonberry syrup' upon being first introduced, and had thought he was being murdered.

Well, sort of. It was a profoundly confusing moment.

Steph approached cautiously, saying, “Does he need any more?”

“No, but I do,” Jason volunteered, pilfering several hot waffles. Steph glared at him.

“He's five; he can only fit so much,” Damian commented. “In fact, the human stomach is about the size of a person's fist--”

“Damian, no! Not at the table!” Steph snapped, and Jason nearly choked laughing.

The girl who regularly saw blood and gore in real life was not going to let them talk about the digestive system at breakfast? Priceless.

Damian probably would have started talking about it louder had it not been for Tim anxiously turning in his seat and promptly sliding off.

In a room of people with amazing reflexes, of course, Tim never made it to the floor. He was cradled against Cass's chest even as everyone reacted and then counterreacted within a second or so to realize two things: Tim was falling, and Tim was caught.

Tim's eyes were wide, but Cass was good at recognizing his fears, and knowing what to do. She gently stroked back his hair, making a sort of humming noise. His hands clenched in her pajama top (huh, Jason would have thought Cass would already be dressed) and he murmured something back.

“I know,” Cass hummed back. She pressed her lips to the top of his head, and surprisingly, surprisingly as hell, Tim let his head rest against her chest. He fished his pacifier out of the pocket of his shirt (a disturbingly ancient green one) and stuck it in, sucking but not quite the panicked pace that Jason had seen before.

It made Jason jealous—not jealous, not really, just a weird feeling in his chest. He caught Steph’s look, sort of a conflicted thing. She was jealous too—no, the only one jealous. Of course. It made sense, since she and Tim were pretty close when he was normal. Older. Whatever.

Quite suddenly, the Flash had appeared, grinning. “Hey guys! Don’t mind if I—“ his mouth was already being stuffed full of pancakes. He made an appreciative noise, and put down his empty plate. “Thanks! Back to work! Oh wait—“

He was suddenly by Cass’s side, smiling at Tim. “Hey, little guy! How are you this morning? Uncle Flash—“

“He doesn’t know you,” Cass commented, and when Jason got a look at Tim’s face, it was hard not to crack up.

The boy was wide-eyed, mouth open and pacifier dropped into the crook of Cass’s arm. He started to reach towards Flash, not in a pick-me-up gesture, but rather in a he-can't-be-real-he's-a- _god_ sort of way. Then, when Flash grinned back, he let out a startled noise, and buried his face into Cass's chest, shoving the pacifier back in his mouth.

“Sorry,” Flash said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn't mean to scare him!”

“I think he's more starstruck than scared,” Dick commented, laughing a little. A child of Tim's age would have grown up probably enamored with superheroes, the Flash included.

Jason still remembered seeing the occasional news piece about superheroes before he was one when he was a kid. He was much less enamored, mostly being on the wrong side of the law. But Tim grew up isolated, and he obviously needed heroes to look up to.

He certainly didn't have any around him.

The Flash sighed, and, since all the Bat kids knew his identity anyway, he slid off his cowl. “Hey, Tim? It's just me. Barry, okay? I'm basically your uncle, even if not by actual family relation and all that.”

Tim slowly turned, eyeing Barry cautiously. “You're Flash,” he said, a bit slowly.

“Yep, that's me, fastest man alive,” Barry said with a softer grin than before.

Tim's eyes were full of awe, unabashed awe. Well, maybe not completely unabashed; kid was kinda bashful in general. But he bunched his shirt in his hands, and he said, softly, “I, um...Mr. Flash, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

Jason frowned. It was that nasty fake-Tim voice, the words he'd clearly memorized and was able to spit out at will, voice altogether too polite for a five year old. 

Cass stroked up and down his back gently, and he leaned into her more. She said, “Tell him. It's okay.”

Barry smiled expectantly, waiting for Tim to find his words.

Tim stuttered a moment, pacifier in his hand, as he tried to speak. “I just—I wanna--” Suddenly he blurted, “Can I marry you?”

Even Cass looked surprised.

Dick looked like he might die—of choking back laughter. Steph was also in the state of strangling away fits of laughter. 

It was just so unexpected, in some ways.

Barry stared a moment, but he was the Flash, so this was barely a millisecond. “You know, bud, I would, I swear I would marry you in a second, but uh, I'm already married to Iris.”

Tim deflated, slumping back into Cass's chest like a hot air balloon that had lost its air.

Damian looked like he was going to threaten Barry, a protective if bewildered look on his face, so Jason stepped in. 

“Hey, Tim-Tam, it's okay. There are tons of people out there to marry! Lots of fish in the sea and all that!”

Tim mumbled something, and Jason only caught the tail-end of “...marry Dick?”

“You don't have to marry anyone,” Cass assured him, even as Jason was laughing.

Tim seemed mildly perturbed by the laughter, but also seemed quite comfortable where he was. He nodded about twice, and then said, “Okay, Tass.”

Jason snorted at that, but a warning look from Stephanie (you know, that whole 'I'll either kill you or make you eat Alfred's pancakes' kinda look) made him not keep laughing. 'Tass.' That was just fucking adorable.

Barry sighed, though good-naturedly, even as he seemed a bit sad for Tim. “Okay. Bruce and I will keep working; got to get him back to himself, after all.”

And he was gone.

And Jason wondered, did they really? Have to get him back to himself, he meant. Tim grew to be kinda fucked up, right? Like, the kid was going to go through all kinds of heartbreak and near death experiences—no, technically, he already had. But it was something of a clean slate. Well, just a somewhat cleaner slate—a chance to fix things.

Like Bruce should've. Like Tim's parents should've. To show him how to just, you know, be right.

Cause god knew properly-aged Tim did not take good care of himself. He often didn't sleep for days at a time, and Jason was pretty sure that he forgot to eat, but he wasn't certain now that he knew about the stash...Of course, there was also the issue of how depressed he'd been, how much it still affected him.

Jason hadn't personally witnessed it, but when so many people in Tim's life died...well, the real crazy with Tim had manifested in obsessively searching for Batman when he died. Like, he couldn't take just one more person being dead, so he forced him to still be alive.

At least, that was the way that Jason looked at it. He didn't necessarily know _all_ the details.

And of course that had been what had happened. Tim needed support, and help, and the person he thought loved him most in the world at that moment was dead, and... God, none of them seemed to have really been there for Tim, not consistently.

Jason swallowed that down as he realized Tim was watching him, solemn blue eyes on his face. He had his pacifier in his mouth again, but there was some serenity to his expression, as Cass gently petted his head.

“Hey, Timmers. C'mere,” and Jason held out his arms for him. 

Cass let him take him, and Tim made no resistance. He looked up at Jason, eyes discerning. “Hi, Jaybird.”

“Hey, Baby Bird. It's going to be okay, okay? I promise.”

He couldn't let him go through that again. Jason may have probably been the worst brother like ever, having tried to kill Tim, and generally torture and hurt him, once upon a time, but he was going to be the good big brother now.

Even if they found a way to change him back, he wouldn't let them.

Tim was better off this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda a fluffy interlude thing going on. Sorry. But yeah, just glad to update at this point. I rather unexpectedly got a job at a retail outlet thing, and it took up a lot of time, combined with going to doctor's appointments and having to prove to medical professionals I'm not insane and don't need to be drugged up to my eyeballs.
> 
> Sorry it took so long! I wanted to generally update about every three days with this one, but ugh... so much to do lately. Plus, of course, all the birthday stuff (it's my birthday! --a few days ago, anyway, lol).
> 
> I hope y'all are still interested. I know it's been like, a week and a half. I hope to update again soon after this. Getting this job is by no means a death nell for this story.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian and Jason agree on something, for once.

Tim was busily sucking away at his pacifier as he explored. He seemed to be figuring out the best hiding spots, completely disappearing from view at times, and Jason wondered if that was how he managed to see them and not be seen.

Of course, the sound of pacifier was a dead giveaway. But what the hell, cut the kid a break, he was five. How many five year olds do you know who could successfully hide from Batman anyway?

It was just Jason and Damian at the moment, Damian stewing angrily and keeping a sharp eye on Tim. As if Jason might do something to him otherwise.

“Fuck family meetings,” Jason grumbled. He didn't know what the meeting was about, only that it including Bruce, Dick, Steph, Cass, Alfred, and—rather pointedly—not him.

Well, not Damian either, to be fair, but goddamnit, he was a _kid_ , and Jason was a fully-functioning adult—well, an adult, anyway. An adult who should get to hear what the fuck was going on with Tim-Tam. It wasn't particularly fair at all, given that he had been the one to rescue Tim.

Damian was probably thinking somewhat similar things. “Shut up, Todd.”

Jason grinned at his younger brother. “Yeah, yeah, cause you're obviously really okay with being left out of the loop. I mean, you're handling this with grace and poise! _He's beauty, he's grace, he's Miss United States--_! Ow, fuck, Damian!”

Damian blew on his knuckles a moment, but it was only to taunt Jason; it was quite obvious, what with the thick callouses and generally good training, that it didn't really hurt or bother him. “Shut up, Todd.”

Jason glared at Damian, but didn't hit him back; Damian did not necessarily get the concept of 'I hit you, you hit me' or whatever. With him, it was more like, 'You hit me, challenge accepted, now die.'

It was what happened when one spent their lives training as an assassin or whatever.

Or Damian was just a natural-born ass.

“Yeah, well... It's got to be killing you not to know. It's killing me. I mean, it could be anything: Tim's going to go back to his age, Tim can't go back to his age, they're gonna make him a girl and put him in a convent...fucking anything.” Jason sighed, leaning back on the couch.

Damian glared. “They wouldn't make him a girl. They don't have the technology to do it adequately.”

Jason almost laughed that that was Damian's reason, but he held it back. “Uh huh. I see. And what, you have the technology somewhere?”

Damian gave him a disgruntled look. “Todd, don't be stupid. That kind of technology is highly experimental and typically secret. Besides which, how would it benefit anyone at all to turn Tim into a--”

“You called him Tim!” Jason shouted, instantly noticing this.

Eyes becoming comically wide, Damian almost stuttered. “N-No, no I didn't! Stop it, you imbecile, quit grinning like that or I'll stab you through your corneas!”

But Jason was grinning wide. “Oh, you really like Tim now, don't you? You probably like him better than Dick. Can't blame you, though, he's just so fucking cute--”

Damian roared, attacking him.

And Damian did not attack anyone lightly. Jason found himself blocking in earnest, grunting, “Come on, Dami, it's just teasing--”

“It's a lie! You're a liar!” Damian snarled back, “I don't care about _Drake_ at all, and when he goes back to normal, we'll be right back where we were, so it doesn't matter!”

“You don't know he's going to go back! And besides, if you can care about little Timmers--” Jason snapped back, keeping Damian from breaking his collarbone.

“I don't care about 'little Timmers' or big fat Drake! It's weakness, Jason, and I don't have a weakness!” Damian shouted back, and he nailed Jason in the stomach.

Thank god it didn't knock the air out of him, cause he was not only able to think, _fucking hell, no kid should be able to hit so hard!_ , but he was also able to say, “Damian, listen to me! Come on, just listen! This isn't about fucking weakness, okay? It's about Tim and what's best for him!”

“-tt- You expect me to believe you making fun of me for supposedly caring about Drake is in his best interest? Idiot! I should just--” 

Jason somehow managed to catch Damian's wrists; that would be quickly followed by a very strong kick, he was sure, so he spoke fast. “What if Tim didn't have to go back to being, uh, his older self? What if I—what if we didn't let them change him back?”

This made Damian pause. He eyed Jason critically. “Why would you want that? Why would you do that?”

Jason sighed. “I mean, look at him; yeah, he's fucked up, but you and I both know how much more he gets fucked up, right? I mean, we could, uh, save him from that. And raise him right.”

Damian snorted. “Us, raise him _right_? Whatever you're on, Todd, I'm sure it would go for a high price on the black market.”

“I'm serious. Fucking dead serious. Not many people get second chances, and I know I'd give a whole fucking lot for a do-over. If we can get the girls and Dick to agree, then... it wouldn't be hard to raise him, right? I mean, Cass is comforting, Steph is like, team mom sometimes, when she isn't team mom, Dick is, and like... Babs is great with kids. When she gets here, she can help us, she's always a great voice of reason, and she totally understands horrible shit going down...”

Damian was staring, as if realizing that Jason was indeed serious. He turned to look at Tim. 

Tim was peeking out of the entertainment center, watching them solemnly. He didn't seem entirely afraid, though he was sucking the pacifier at a fairly fast pace. He said, around the pacifier, “You guys are weird.”

Jason couldn't help it—he laughed. He just laughed, and came over to Tim. “Okay, Tim-Tam, we're weird. We're so weird. Such fucking weirdos.”

Tim nodded uncertainly. Then, he reached for Damian. “Dami,” he said softly, “Up. Please.”

Damian picked him up, rubbing his back automatically. He seemed to debate for a moment, then his eyes flicked over to Jason, something set in them as he held Tim (who still was very bad at latching on, but seemed quite comfortable anyway). 

“I...agree.” He was scowling as he held onto his now younger brother. “But don't think that means I like you or him. I just agree that the logic holds.”

Jason grinned. “Okay. Now we just gotta get the other Bat Brats on board, and we're set.”

“For what?” Tim asked, a little timidly. He seemed more aware of them now, more able to understand what was going on.

“For you to stay this way,” Jason explained, “They wanna turn you into an almost grown up.”

“A bad almost grown up,” Damian muttered, and Jason thought that was laying it on a little thick, but Tim frantically shook his head.

“No, I wanna stay with you! I don't...” It trailed off into mumbling, but to Jason's surprise, he buried his face in Damian's neck, muttering something about 'Dami' and 'please.' It was like he was afraid any dissent, even agreeing with them in their dissent when no one else was disagreeing, would get him in trouble.

Damian stroked his back, murmuring, “It'll be okay. I won't let them.”

And Jason had to wonder if maybe he'd dug himself in a little deep.

Nah, probably not. It was in Timmy's best interest anyhow.

It took about a half an hour for the Bat Family Meeting to end; Babs was there too, having momentarily stopped to get a look at (and of course, snuggle) Tim. He'd reacted quite well to her, sitting on her lap in her wheelchair, and even shyly asking to 'Go fast, please?'

Which, Jason wasn't sure if that was like, inappropriate or something, but hey, Tim was five and developmentally stunted or whatever, and Babs hadn't looked angry, so, whatever.

Now the team was filing upstairs, emptying the elevator in two goes.

They stood solemnly, not in costume, though the Flash was. He was holding something in his hand, a sort of syringe or something.

Tim instantly saw that, and clung to Damian rather awkwardly.

“What's that?” Jason asked, eyeing it with distrust.

“It's a cure,” Bruce said, a bit flatly, like _Why should I explain it to you? You literally threw a temper tantrum when we said you couldn't sit in._

Which, he fucking did not. He just got mad and shot a clock, that was it.

“How does it work?” Damian asked solemnly, though there was a defensive, protective edge to his voice.

The Flash winced a little. “Forces aging in the extreme; however, after experimenting on rats, we've discovered how to make it exact. It took a whole lot of work, that's for sure, but this will age him to sixteen and not a day over.”

Damian's eyes narrowed. “Does it hurt?”

The Flash seemed to be a little stuck on this one. “Well, uh...”

“It won't be anything he can't handle,” Bruce said, “And besides which, once it feels like years have passed, he won't remember it very well.”

“What about his mind? How is that gonna catch up? You think his memories will just magically appear?” Jason challenged, suddenly moving to stand by Damian. The protective stance did not go unnoticed by anyone.

“It should work. We saw major changes in the rats' brains, and because he was de-aged and not naturally this age, his memories should revert.” Bruce said this like the risk was worth it. Like having a Tim with the mind of an abused, neglected five year old child was unlikely, but would be all right if it happened.

He could see Dick glaring at the floor, and took this opportunity.

“Dick. Come on, you can't seriously agree with this! I mean, what if it fucks him up even worse? What if he's totally shattered? I mean, the Lazarus pit did a number on yours truly, what's to say this won't be similar for Tim? You want some crazy Red Robin flitting around Gotham fucking shit up?”

Dick clenched his teeth, clearly. “It's...Batman's decision. He is Tim's father. And...it should be all right.”

It looked painful for him to say. Like he'd said all of what Jason had said, and been shot down. 

“Steph, come on. You know Tim. He wouldn't want to risk this!” Jason tried, looking to Steph.

“Well, I definitely don't agree with the _method_ ,” Steph said sourly, “But it will probably work; the Flash is really good at what he does, and Bruce...well, he fucks shit up all the time, but I trust Flash.” She gave Bruce a dark look.

She definitely wasn't over his attitude in various situations, including the way he'd treated her while she was Robin.

From what Jason heard, that was definitely fucking deserved.

“Besides which, Jay, Tim needs to be who he really is. Not a child, but a teenager, an almost adult.”

He turned to Cass, giving up on Steph. “Come on, Cass. You have to know this is fucked up!”

She gave him a rather stoic look back, arms crossed over her chest and turned somewhat away from them. Her eyes, however, gave it away: she didn't want this to happen either.

“Babs,” he tried, turning to Barbara. “He deserves a chance. He should get the chance to fix his childhood; you know he goes through more neglect after this, and all the fucked up shit that's happened to him—that suicide attempt--”

“That was not a suicide attempt, Jason,” Barbara said, a little sharply, though she looked like she regretted the tone instantly. “And, more importantly, we just don't get to turn back the clock. I know it sounds risky, but it's really not as risky as it sounds. Barry does good work, and has considered the variables.”

She looked at him seriously, eyes boring through him. “You're being selfish.”

The Flash stepped forward with the syringe, and Tim, definitely freaked the fuck out by the tension in the room, screamed, pleading with Damian, “Dami, Dami, please, no, so good, please, I be so good--!”

Jason had thought he'd be the one to react in self-righteous anger.

But it was Damian, who abruptly hurled a shuriken at the Flash, shouting, “No! No one gets to touch him!”

If the Flash had had even the slightest inkling, maybe he would have dodged it. But he just completely did not expect it, and in his shock, he hesitated just too long. A normal human couldn't have dodged it, and it lodged into his thigh.

The Flash went down with a cry, and with him, the syringe.

Batman was already moving, shouting at Damian, “Damian! You stop this right now!”

But Damian was running, shouting back, “You won't hurt him! You won't do this to him!” clutching a sobbing Tim to his chest.

And Damian wouldn't make it out if Jason didn't do something, that was for sure. Jason barely eyed the syringe for a second, before drawing his guns. “Hey, Batman, you wanna see if your kids are fast enough to dodge a bullet?”

The others were looking at him in mild horror. Or at least, shock. Even Cass looked slightly surprised, because even if she'd realized he was about to draw his guns, she hadn't expected it the moment before he did it necessarily. He hadn't expected it until the moment he did it.

Batman stopped, turning to growl at Jason, “You put those guns down, _now_ , Jason Peter Todd.”

Jason laughed. “What can I say, I'm completely insane, huh? Who knows who I'll try to shoot, right? Could be Dickiebird, could be Cass, could be Stephers, could even be Babs. Could be any of the fucking Bat Brats still in your good graces, huh?”

Batman growled, “Jason, you will regret this if you don't stop right now.”

He could hear the grate being kicked open, and Damian slipping inside. He wasn't sure if he was doing the right thing or not, honestly, but like always, followed his instincts and anger. “Yeah, fuck that. Didn't you hear me? Insane, don't care.”

“Jason, you're not crazy!” Dick said, a touch of desperation to his tone. “Stop it before Damian disappears with Tim and things get bad fast!”

“Yeah, come on! You think Tim's better off in hiding with _Damian_?” Steph demanded.

Jason shrugged. “I dunno, I am too crazy for Family Meetings, so... maybe I do. And maybe he's the fucking only one willing to stand up for Tim, who, if you don't recall, is a defenseless child right now.”

“You're not helping him, Jason,” Barbara said, as calmly as she could. “You're only delaying it, for one thing, and for another—it would make him a non-entity if he was to stay this age. Legally, he couldn't be Tim Drake as he's about eleven years too young.”

Jason snorted. “Oh, you mean a non-entity like me? Yeah, that's fucking hell, man. Can't even get a driver's license when you're legally dead, that's for fucking sure! But guess what? It beats whatever the hell you're going to put him through!”

He'd gotten distracted, he realized, the instant the stinging blow went into his wrists. Cass's cool look was the last thing he saw before another blow took him out cold.

Had he gone too far this time?

Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was mad when I wasn't able to finish this before Wednesday, but I guess it isn't a bad update time anyway. Anyway, I hope y'all like it!
> 
> Also, references: Tim's suicide attempt. This is not necessarily canonically considered a suicide attempt, but he did jump/fall without attempting to stop it while in a deep emotional turmoil over the deaths of his friends; Nightwing caught him, and Tim claimed he knew he'd catch him.
> 
> Some fans see this as a sort of suicide attempt, like not a planned one, but 'taking the opportunity' since it wouldn't necessarily be realized to be a suicide attempt, just a natural casualty of fighting villains.
> 
> As for Steph...that's a reference to Bruce's generally shitty behavior towards her. For one thing, he only let her be Robin to get back at Tim, to teach him a lesson. He also treated her harshly in general, and tended to try to make her 'prove herself' past what he did for the other Robins. And so on and so forth.
> 
> Also, my science probably ain't sound. But I'm a fanfic writer, not a sciengician or whatever. XD 
> 
> I also feel that Tim is capable of speaking for the most part, just doesn't do it most of the time. As he was loosening up a bit, feeling safer, he used better English and such. Not so much when frightened out of his mind. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has a headache; Damian probably doesn't have much of a plan.

Jason's head felt like it had been kicked in by a rhino and then stuffed full of those weird scratchy paper gowns they had in hospitals. He moaned, blinking rapidly as his vision cleared and got a look at where he was.

Well, if the hardness under his ass and the cold metal holding his wrists were anything to go off of, he was cuffed in a chair. And a quick sweep told him he was in the living room still.

“Nice of you to join us.” It was said coldly, and only Batman could be that ice cold. At least, out of anyone who would be likely to be in Wayne Manor. To be fair, though, Cass could be pretty damn terrifying, and Dick had definitely had a few moments--

“I can't believe you turned a gun on us,” Dick said accusingly.

“Technically, I turned two guns on you,” Jason said, obviously helping himself. He felt the cuffs. Yeah, he could break out of these, and they probably knew that. Still, he could not take on everyone who was here...who included Batman, Dick, and Alfred. Well, he could fight Alfred, but why the fuck anyone would do that who wasn't a sociopathic maniac, he didn't know.

Batman looked like he wanted to hit him, but refrained. “Where did Damian take Tim?”

Well, that was good news. Damian made it away. But Jason scoffed. “You think I know? Demon brat could be anywhere, frankly. Where're the girls, anyway? You gonna do something you don't want them to see? Cause, I know I'm fucking gorgeous, but--”

“That's not funny, Jason!” Dick snapped, “How can you even make a joke about-about shit like _that_ , after what happened to Tim?”

Oh. That was kind of in bad taste. He actually felt a little bile at the back of his throat at that thought, but choked it back down. “Yeah. Uh. Sorry, Dick, Alfred.” He pointedly didn't apologize to Batman. “But I'm still not helping you find Tim. He doesn't deserve what you're trying to do to him.”

“We are trying to restore him! You think he would want to stay like this?” Batman demanded, glaring.

Jason realized that Alfred was just finished up bandaging the Flash's leg. Barry looked a little bit in pain, but far more consumed with guilt.

Good. He should feel guilty.

“Yeah, fuck that, Bats. He was scared shitless--” Jason started, but Batman shouted at him,

“Because you and Damian worked him up into a frenzy! He's a _child_ , of course he got scared when everyone was shouting at each other!” Batman snapped back.

“Yeah, cause he wouldn't have been scared when he was writhing on the floor in pain from your fucking 'procedure!'” Jason snorted. “Five year olds love pain! Thrive on it! Trade their Pokemon cards for it!”

“Jason, you're not helping anything,” Dick said quietly.

“Fuck that, Dick! You _know_ it was a horrible plan and it wasn't okay! I mean, if even Damian can see that--”

“Damian wasn't acting in Tim's best interest,” Batman said flatly, “He was acting out of his own selfishness. He prefers Tim this way, and--”

“Hey! His motives may not be perfect, but he cares about Tim. He's capable of that,” Dick said sharply.

“He hated him before. Now he's his cuddle toy. You don't think he's biased at all?” Batman replied drily.

“And you're not? You prefer him as a capable crime-fighter, not as a vulnerable child you have to care for!” Dick snapped back, hands clenching into fists. “Which, by the way, is ridiculous, as you've done almost nothing to help Tim!”

Batman's angry face was turned on Dick now. “What do you think I've been doing these past 24 hours in my lab? I am trying to fix this! And we had a clearly working way of doing that, until Damian and Jason decided they knew better.”

“Which, we do--”

“Jason, be quiet,” Batman said icily.

“No, no, he may just be right,” Dick said, and hey, looked like the former Golden Boy was on his side. Well, that helped things. “You know I was barely on your side to begin with, and only because I thought Tim would choose to be himself again...but Jason's right. Your method is a horrible one.”

“It is not. It works, the chances of it going wrong are slim,” Batman insisted, “We didn't completely fabricate this technology in the space of a night. It's based on previous studies and experiments, which were not ours but there's a body of evidence and research that says this will work! I told you this, Dick.”

Dick uncertainly rolled back his shoulders. “Would have probably been good to tell Jason and Damian. Still, I'm not—I don't agree with the pain. You saw the levels they had—the rats. You measured it. How can you even think--”

“He won't remember it, most likely,” Batman insisted again.

“Yeah, cause you can tell if rats remember things like that,” Jason said with a roll of his eyes. The cuffs were unlocked by now, but he was waiting to see what would happen.

“Be quiet, Jason.”

Dick glared. “How much _human_ testing has been done, Bruce? How do you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Tim won't be eternally scarred by this?”

The Flash spoke up. “It's been used on human body parts, but never a fully-functioning human. So, we know how it reacts with human tissue and the like, down to the cellular level, but no, never on a human being. That would be immoral.”

“There you go! The Flash has answered why the fuck you shouldn't do this to Tim!” Jason said, still holding his hands behind the chair.

Batman gave him a look. “It would be immoral because it would literally take years of their lives away, which is not the case with Tim.”

“Fuck that!” Jason shouted back. “It's wrong and you know it!”

“The technology was developed to allow the growth of organs that matched the age of the person involved,” Batman said, “It's a small leap--”

“It was only a 'small leap' cause I could do it at superspeed,” Barry put in, though he didn't look much like he liked contradicting Batman. “It would normally take a lot longer to adapt that.”

“So, where are the girls anyway?” Jason asked, wanting an actual answer. He didn't like their absence, cause it was likely that they were after Damian somehow.

Which, that did mean he got away, for now, but yeah...didn't mean he wouldn't be found.

Dick answered, as Batman glowered. “They're tracking Damian. And believe me, there's not a safe house he could go to in this city that we wouldn't know about.”

“You don't know all mine,” Jason pointed out.

“Neither does Damian,” Dick said flatly.

Jason sighed, still keeping the cuffs in place. They might already know he was free, but whatever. There was the possibility of holding a secret ace, and that was worth it.

There was the crackle of a radio, and Babs's voice came through. “I've spotted him.”

_Fuck._ They started moving towards the grandfather clock, and so Jason stood abruptly. Batman had already drawn a batarang before Jason held up his hands in surrender.

“Hey, hey, not gonna fight, I swear. Sides, it appears,” he patted his holsters, “you took my guns and all my weapons anyway.” He frowned. “Thanks a fucking lot!”

Dick gave Batman a look. “He's not going to attack us. He just wants to know where Tim and Damian are. You know how rash he is sometimes; he's genuinely concerned.”

Batman didn't say anything, but put away the batarang and strode towards the elevator. It was as if he was saying, 'You're not worth my time anyway.'

Harsh, but worked to Jason's advantage.

He went down with Alfred, who he suddenly realized was not exactly happy with him. “Uh, hey Alfred, you know I wouldn't shoot them...right?”

“I do not like seeing anyone under my care threatened, especially at gunpoint, Master Jason,” Alfred said stiffly, professionally.

“Uh, sorry. I was trying to help Tim,” Jason said weakly, feeling guilty. He didn't want to hurt Alfred at all.

Alfred turned his gaze on him. “It's admirable to want to help Tim. But it seems counterproductive to put your other siblings' lives in danger in turn.”

“Yeah...” Jason looked down at his feet. “Sorry, Alfred.”

They mercifully arrived.

The rest of the batclan, besides Steph and Cass, were clustered around the big screen. It had semi-clear footage on it, no sound. Obviously, this was not one of the best security cameras around, but it would do its job, unfortunately.

He could see Damian. Where the fuck was Tim? He peered at the screen anxiously, only seeing a black shape that was Damian, until part of Damian's body moved strangely and suddenly there was a pale face peering out. 

He felt relief.

Damian hastily covered the face with the black again, and was probably telling Tim to stay still so they could hide.

They were crouched in an alley, behind crates and behind a bakery that Jason recognized by the graffiti. It was by a semi-well-known artist who had been gunned down some time back. If he remembered correctly, his friends had been making sure this, his best work, which involved large letters spelling out a young cousin's name (he didn't entirely know what happened to the cousin; something to do with one of the big enemies of the Bat Family) and a symbol with a knife through it. He forgot what the symbol was, and the picture was not clear enough to know. It looked like it might be a stylized penguin.

Anyway, if Jason knew where they were, there was no doubt that Babs and the rest knew too.

He glared at the screen, cursing the camera for giving Damian and Tim away. Why didn't Damian see it? Wasn't he supposed to be really good at this ninja shit?

But he could make out Damian seeming to bounce Tim on his leg, and then he realized: Damian had pretty much never had to look out for someone else in one of his ninja missions, much less a small child he cared about. Much less one that might be very frightened.

He cursed to himself. Come on, Damian, move to another spot! He had to know he couldn't stay in one place long!

But, like he heard him, Damian stood up, and it was hard to make out with the black, but it looked like he was rubbing Tim's back again. He probably considered Tim a cat or something. 

Ha. Maybe that was why he liked Tim so much: he didn't speak much and liked the affection, it seemed, not unlike a pet. 

But back to serious business.

As Damian scaled the wall, he could see the two other shapes appear, one purplish and the other black. His stomach dropped, but of course, Damian clearly already knew they were there, flinging projectiles of some kind at them.

Expertly dodged, of course.

Jason knew enough to know that Damian might have a shot against Stephanie, but not Cass, and especially not with them together and him weighed down with Tim. Fuck this shit, Tim was going to be scared mute at this rate. “Come on, you're tracking him down like a runaway prisoner! You're gonna traumatize him worse!”

“That's not what's happening, Jason,” Batman said tightly.

He could see Cass and Steph get on either side of Damian; maybe he could have run into the street, but Damian seemed a little frozen.

Maybe they were talking. He doubted either of them could really convince Damian to return home with Tim, not after the fact there was not going to be a change of plans.

His eyes widened. What if they were lying to him? Tricking him into delivering Tim all pretty in a bow for them to torture?

They were, he realized, as Damian started to hold out the bundle that was Tim towards Cass.

No. No, no, Damian, no! What the fuck was the demon brat thinking?

Apparently, though, he was thinking. A plume of smoke shot up just as Cass had dropped her fighting stance and held out her arms for Tim. Cass was surely caught head on in what was probably a fairly caustic smoke.

Batman growled next to him, but when the smoke cleared, Damian had managed to evade the Batgirls.

Not win, not by any stretch, but evade. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Four for you, Damian, you go Damian!” He probably shouldn't have said that out loud, because the others turned a glare on him except Alfred.

“What? I'm supposed to be sad he's still out of your sadistic, heartless grasp?” Jason demanded, scoffing.

“Goddamnit, Jason--” Batman started, looking like he might fight him, just maybe.

Dick stepped in. “Hey. He's sure to pop up again, he doesn't know the city as well as we do, doesn't know where all the cameras are. We'll find him. And, in the meantime, Jason is at least half-right. It's heartless to put Tim through that and this. So, you're not doing it until you at least find a less painful method.”

Jason grinned. Dick was on his side.

To an extent, anyway.

Barry sighed. “I'll get to work on it...”

Batman frowned, but said nothing, turning back to the screen.

Babs also said nothing, clicking on the keyboard and with the mouse.

Jason hoped against all hope that Dick would end up siding with him about never changing Timmy back. Tim-Tam, slightly disturbed tyke, was a much healthier option than Timothy Drake-Wayne, resident depressed vigilante who might also try to kill himself.

He crossed his fingers, as silly as that was.

Timmers was going to be all right, if he and Damian had anything to do with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! It is done! 
> 
> I feel that Batman would go about this all wrong in terms of retrieving Tim and Damian, though Cass and Steph would try to do it in the right, least traumatic way.
> 
> And Barry is not sure how to deal with Batman right now.
> 
> I hope Alfred is all right. I've noticed he's generally careful not to take sides. Gah.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian is tracked down--but this time, it's Jason and Dick attempting to reason with him.

It was going to be a monumental work to get Tim-Tam back, and especially without estranging Damian.

Jason probably had a shit-eating grin on his face, because Dick gave him a glare.

“They're going to find them, Jason. They're going to bring him back, and we'll figure it out. We don't need to traumatize him further, and your and Damian's rescue attempt is only going to backfire.”

Jason shook his head. “Pfft. It saved Tim from that whole 'procedure that's never been done on an actual human' shit, didn't it? Would you have changed your mind, Dickiebird?”

Dick frowned, as if it was true but he couldn't concede the point. He just sighed, dragging his hand through his hair. “I'm still worried. I mean, not just about Tim, but about Damian. You've seen the way he's latched on to Tim, the way he treats him like...like...”

“His favorite kitten?”

“Jason. I'm being serious. What if this hurts Damian badly?”

Jason stared at Dick for a while. What the fuck did that mean? Demon brat was not going to be hurt by Tim...oh. If they literally ripped a child he cared about from his arms, which was probably what they were going to have to do...And literally fought him, when they should have been on the same side... 

But Jason just shrugged. “Damian's dealt with worse.”

“Not from people he trusted!” Dick snapped. Jason realized then that Dick was actually mad at him.

“What? And that's my fault?”

“Yes! You put the idea in his head, didn't you?” Dick had not been there, and certainly shouldn't know about it, but as always, he had a knack for understanding the family dynamics.

Jason looked away. “Maybe it was my idea; maybe it was his. What's the big deal? We're trying to protect Tim, you guys are the ones who forced our hand!”

Dick groaned, looking rather like he wanted to throttle Jason. But at the same time, he looked like he recognized the logic. “You didn't need to scare the crap out of Tim and work Damian up into this state, Jason--”

“Yeah, I did, cause in case you don't remember, apparently I'm the bad kid and I don't belong at the table when we're discussing serious family matters! If Damian and I had been at the meeting, maybe it wouldn't have gone so wrong and you guys wouldn't have been such asses about Tim!”

Dick had crossed his arms, watching as Barbara flipped through cameras; all of the alerts were potential sightings, looking for Damian since Tim's facial profile certainly hadn't been changed to match his five year old self.

That, and Damian seemed to be keeping the kid's face from view in general.

“Jason...Maybe you were right, but it could have been done in a way that didn't risk anyone's life or safety.” 

Jason glared at Dick. “Tim won't trust you anymore after this, Dickiebird. He won't trust any of you.”

Dick glared back. He looked like he was about to say something sort of nasty, but Barbara cut him off. “I spotted him. Damian's by the bridge on Prospect street. He's ducked underneath and is hiding there for now.”

“That's five minutes from here...” Dick said thoughtfully.

Jason was up and heading for the motorcycle before Dick even finished the thought.

“Jaybird, where do you think you're going?” Dick demanded, though he caught up, evidently ready to either drive or ride on the back of the motorcycle; his posture was somewhat unsure, something Jason exploited.

“Who do you think Dami and Tim-Tam are going to trust? Me or you?” Jason demanded, well aware that there was not much chance of avoiding Damian getting caught at this point, and thinking that at least he could get some control over it if he stepped in now.

“You're helping now?” Dick demanded rather suspiciously.

“What? I do give a fuck about their mental state or whatever. Particularly Tim.” Jason huffed this, like it was ridiculous that Dick would doubt that. Okay, okay, maybe he'd sorta tried to kill Tim at one point, but that'd never really been about Tim—it'd been about being replaced, it'd been about the symbol of Robin. “I mean, god, look at me—if Bats or somebody had given a fuck about _my_ mental state...yeah, dunno, might not have almost killed Tim and all that.”

Dick sighed, but nodded. He got on behind Jason, handing him the key.

The motorcycle took off down the platform, and out of the cave. Jason drove fast, but frankly Dick was a faster and more reckless driver, so he probably wasn't frightened at all.

In the short drive, Jason considered his options. He had to protect Tim, because clearly the Bat saw him as some sorta vacuum cleaner he could just repair regardless, parts replaceable and entirely devoid of feelings.

_Replaceable._ Jason scowled under his helmet, that's what they were to Batman. Entirely replaceable. Hence the long string of Robins and Batgirls and what have you. Hence the lack of freaking any care for them emotionally.

God, was he thinking this? He was fine, okay, they were wrong when they said he was crazy—at least _now_.

He was over the bridge in no time—not enough time to think on what to do. Not enough time to decide for sure what was best for Timmers. Not enough time to take into consideration the demon brat's feelings either.

Jason dropped over the edge of the bridge first, landing on the support that Damian was currently crouched on, rocking a weakly crying Tim.

“Hey. Sup?” Jason could see the worn-thin tension in Damian's face, the way he was trying hard to comfort Tim but didn't necessarily know how, at least not under the circumstances.

Damian sighed. “Todd. It is good you're here. Drake has lost his pacifier and also he seems hungry. I need your help to--”

Dick dropped in next, and Damian backed away, clutching Tim to his chest.

“No. Grayson, you can't take him back—Todd, you tricked me--!”

“Calm down, little D,” Dick said softly, “We know now that we can't do that to Tim. You were right, it was a bad plan.”

Damian seemed to relax just a little, and Jason could see Tim whimper, burying his face into Damian's chest as if seeking comfort there. It was sort of chilly, and a dampness hung in the air. Damian rubbed his hand up and down Tim's back, muttering, “It's all right, Tim, you're going to be all right.”

When he caught Jason looking, he growled back, “What? He doesn't respond to Drake.”

Jason didn't comment on that, saying, “Dickiebird's on our side, kay? He doesn't think that Tim should be put through that much pain, especially not with how experimental it is.”

Damian looked towards Dick; it was apparent he wanted to trust him. He wanted to be loved by him, for him to understand Damian and still care about him. Damian delicately shifted Tim in his arms, and sighed flatly. “You won't make him grow up again?”

“Not saying that,” Dick admitted, “But I won't make him suffer or take a serious risk with him. If we can't find a way that is completely safe and not traumatic, then, yes, I won't make him grow up again.”

Damian considered this, and even Jason had to admit, that was pretty reasonable, as much as he would have liked to keep Tim young. 

He was starting to rethink it. Would Tim even want to stay a child, if he had the choice?

Then again, Tim tended to do all kinds of self-destructive shit, so should he even get a choice, or should the people who knew what was best for him get to decide? It was like when people tried to kill themselves—you had to take away their choice, at least for the time being. 

He vaguely wondered if someone should have done that for him when he was basically insane from the Lazarus pit. Someone should have done something, probably, but that shit was a whole mess of non-consensual, piss-poor choices by someone else.

He set his mouth firmly in a frown. If Bruce actually took damn care of his sidekicks, the children he sent out to do battle with villains, then maybe he wouldn't have died—and Tim wouldn't be in this situation either. Tim shouldn't have been alone, the kid was like sixteen and kinda on the small side. Plus, that whole suicidal streak going on—the fuck was Batman thinking?

“I...I want him to stay like this,” Damian muttered, trying to rub warmth back into the child, whose teeth had started chattering.

Jason took off his jacket (having rescued it sometime the night before) and wrapped it around Tim. “Come on, Timmers, it's gonna be okay. We can get you coffee—you love coffee, don'tcha?”

Dick sighed. “Both of you...” he apparently decided to address the easy one first, Jason. “Tim shouldn't have coffee at this age, and he probably doesn't like it at this age; it's a teenage Tim thing. He worked up to acquiring the taste for coffee and caffeine tolerance.”

Then he looked over at Damian. “Little D...Damian. I know this must be hard for you; I know you don't have a lot of people you trust or feel safe being affectionate with. I know that. Your upbringing has mostly guaranteed it. But forcing Tim to remain a child is not in his best interests, it's in yours. I know you like him better this way, that he's far easier to relate to and you get to hold him and--”

“It's not fair,” Damian muttered, seeming to forget Jason was even there. “Why can't Drake be nice? Why can't he just be a little kid like this?”

Jason didn't point out that Damian had nearly killed Tim, fought him pretty viciously upon first meeting him. He felt like the way their relationship was, it was kinda inevitable considering how it began.

And with Tim basically putting Damian on his kill list and all that. Yeah, great move there, teen genius.

“You know it's not entirely his fault the way things are between you,” Dick said gently, “And I know that now, you probably feel differently than when you first met him. You were a different person then, Damian, and I know Tim hasn't been so good at acknowledging that. A lot of people haven't been.”

Jason blinked. Was this the whole demon brat thing? Cause, that was affectionate—who was he kidding, they basically likened the bloodthirsty ninja that came to them to a monster. A baby monster, but a monster nonetheless.

It wasn't the same as the zombie jokes, because A) he made those about himself, and B) Damian didn't look at his upbringing the same way as Jason looked at his resurrection. It actually made Jason feel a weird knot in his stomach, looking at the disappointed and frustrated look on Damian's face.

Damian was _lonely_ and probably somewhat affection-starved. Somewhat self-caused, but at the same time...not.

The small vigilante allowed Tim to begin sucking on his thumb after making a particularly pathetic whine, as if his own fingers weren't good enough. Damian's eyes were sparking with hurt, and he demanded, “What if it's what's best for Tim too? Jason mentioned he didn't receive much affection or attention as a child; we can supply it, and he will grow up to be even better than he was. He could be my Robin when I'm Batman.”

Jason couldn't help it, he snorted. That brought Damian's attention back to him, and he glared.

Dick gave him a look. “I know it's hard, little D, but we have to do what's best for Tim. What that is, I don't know yet, but I do know it's not dragging him through a wet, cold city and making him miserable and scared. We're going to take him back to the batcave; you can still hold him, if that's what you want. Okay?”

Damian hefted Tim closer to himself protectively, seeming to consider this proposal. It looked painful to him, as much as, Jason wasn't sure, having to be forced to shoot Batcow or whatever.

Not that that had happened, but given Damian's feelings towards animals...

“Dami...” Tim whimpered, shivering violently, apparently unable to voice the actual problem. Which was probably that he was freezing to death.

Damian's mouth pinched, and he said, unwillingly, “Fine, we'll go back to the Batcave. But no one's doing anything to Tim, I just want him to be warm and not scared.”

Dick had this look on his face, like Damian was some poor kid. Like it was semi-tragic, what he was witnessing, but also sweet. “Okay, Damian.”

He radioed Steph and Cass, who had been about a minute away, and called off the chase.

The four Robins headed back to the Batcave—and a disapproving Batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just glad to update! Been nursing this chapter over a couple days now. I hope you guys like it! And Happy Halloween! :D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is taken back to the batcave--where dire news and a very old playpen await.

Batman was obviously not too happy with them. He eyed Damian, the way he gripped Tim tightly, like Damian was clearly being corrupted—or vice versa, it was hard to tell sometimes.

Cause goddamn, how dare anyone show affection and value it over the damn mission.

Jason shifted so he was standing halfway in front of Tim and Damian. “Got a problem, Bats?”

Batman gave him that look, the one that said, 'I could take you apart in about two seconds if I so chose. Don't push me, punk.'

Jason just grinned, as if to say, 'I'd love to see you try, old man.'

Dick chose that moment to step in. “Hey, wait, we're here to decide, as the entire group, what is best for Tim, okay? We're here for Tim, not old grievances, however... _valid_ they might be.”

“Yeah, we are here for Tim,” Jason agreed, “Which is why Bats isn't getting so much as his pinky finger near him.”

Batman gave him a cold glare. “I was only trying to do what was best for Tim. I am his father, and--”

“Pfft. 'Father.' You're his former boss,” Jason corrected, stating, “You were never his father. Hell, you weren't even his partner, cause being a partner means basic respect. Yeah, I heard the stories, so don't even with me.”

Batman was glaring.

Dick let out a low whistle. “Okay, what we're going to do right now is not freak out--”

“I have adoption papers, if you need evidence--” Bruce had started, cowl up now and blue eyes piercing.

“Yeah, fuck that shit, technicalities don't count. I mean, _technically_ , I've had a total of three parents in my life, right? But they were fucking assholes and never really--”

Maybe Jason should have expected that punch. Maybe he should have expected the wounded look on Bruce's face.

Bruce. The one person he'd ever looked up to as a real parent. The one now standing over him, fists clenched and pain in his eyes. He didn't seem to know if he should glare or not, if he should hit Jason again or—or--

Whatever the fuck was going on in Bats's head.

Dick said quietly, “Jason, that was uncalled for.” It was clear in his tone: Bruce cared about you. He tried so hard to be a good father to you, and _you know that_.

Jason got back to his feet, rubbing at his cheek. He glared at his boots, as he heard the rustling of Tim in Damian's arms and wondered if Damian had any idea what was going on—he knew Tim didn't.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason grumbled, turning back to Damian and Tim. He ignored Bruce, gently stroking Tim's hair. “Hey, Timmers. You hungry? Cause we got lots of food, if you don't remember.”

“I have a camera memory,” Tim said brightly, astonishingly articulate for the amount of such speech he'd shown so far. He was apparently quite content where he was, up against Damian's chest and now finally warm. “I know lots of things all the time.”

“I bet you do, kiddo,” Jason said with a slight smile.

Steph and Cass arrived at that point, and both looked relieved to see Tim all right. The situation had been explained to them, and so they didn't try to take him from Damian or anything.

Cass came over and affectionately wrapped an arm around Tim, kissing the top of his head. He seemed shy but pleased with this, looking at her in mild awe.

Steph came over more hesitantly, looking to Cass. “What's...what's all right to do?”

It must have been painful for her. Jason wasn't sure why Cass was able to approach Tim with no issues and Steph wasn't—they were both chicks, both were obviously chicks, but maybe Cass knew how to avoid giving off such signals to Tim? Maybe. He didn't know for sure.

Cass gave Steph a smile, and brought her hand to his head, moving it in the direction of his hair. “He likes petting.”

Steph cautiously tried it, and when Tim didn't freak out or make any sign of disliking it, did it better. Tim turned to look her, blue eyes curious, but not frightened or weird or anything. “Hi,” he said softly.

“Hi, Tim,” Steph responded, smiling a bit at him. “Um, are you doing okay?”

Tim said, rather without preamble, “I miss m'foofah.”

“His what now?” Jason looked to Damian, raising his eyebrows.

“His pacifier,” Damian clarified, “That's...what he calls it. Sometimes.”

Jason fought so hard not to laugh. That was just...it was damn adorable, and god, he could not imagine sixteen year old Tim mentioning his 'foofah.' Just the image had him legitimately cracking up.

Steph smiled at Tim fondly, saying, “Well, we do have more, uh, foofahs.”

“I'll get it,” Dick said, “Good thing we got a three pack.”

He was grinning. Grinning like this was the best thing in the world.

Maybe it was, Jason had to admit. Tim acting, well, fairly normal, he thought. Calm, not frightened out of his mind, reacting to them like a child and not an animal...it made Jason more and more sure it would be much better for Tim if they didn't force him back.

Batman broke the mood, harrumphing. “We need to discuss this. Now.”

They trooped towards the table, just as Dick returned with another pacifier. Tim started to reach for it, but hesitated, apparently waiting to be handed it, hands cupped in a rather passive gesture.

Dick put it straight in his mouth, grinning at him. “Hey, it's okay, baby bird. You're okay.”

Tim seemed quite content where he was, especially now that he had a pacifier again. He gripped Damian's shirt with one fist, and used the other to grip his own hair as he relaxed.

That was when Batman gestured to what appeared to be a playpen—old, ugly pastel colors, but a working playpen nonetheless. “Put him there for now. We need to talk without distraction.”

Damian's grip tightened around Tim, making the lulled look on Tim's face disappear. “Father, I must disobey in this case.”

Before Bruce could respond, Dick put in, “Come on, Bruce, Tim's too old for that. He's five years old, that's way too big for a playpen.”

“It's just to keep him out of the way for the moment,” Bruce said, adding, “We can't leave him with no one watching him, but we need everyone's full attention. I had Alfred put soft blankets and toys and food in there, everything he'd need. He will be fine.”

Damian seemed unable to argue with that, and begrudgingly walked over to the playpen. Jason did too, peering in.

He had to admit, with the soft yellow blankets and the plastic dinosaurs and the cups of goldfish crackers and juice, it would probably be all right. Probably. Unless Bruce had an ulterior motive, of course.

“I want Drake within full view at all times,” Damian said, a little crossly.

“He will be,” Bruce sighed, as if he found it a bit much that he had to wrangle with his minor child over his other minor child.

“D—Tim,” Damian said, catching the child's attention, “You need to tell me instantly if you need anything or if anything happens, do you understand?”

Tim stared at him a moment, then nodded. He still seemed unsure, of course, but when Damian hefted him over the edge of the playpen, it seemed to click, and he started to wriggle. “No, no, Dami--”

“It's all right, Tim. You will not come to any harm,” Damian promised, “Or I will kill anyone who dares lay a hand on you.”

It might have been more heartwarming if Jason didn't know that Damian was dead serious about the killing.

Tim still let out a whimper, something that stopped Jason cold. Not because it was a whimper, but because it was clearly a word—or a name.

Damian had frozen too. He stared at Tim, and the boy just cringed under the look, tears seeming to rise to the surface as he didn't seem sure what he'd done wrong but believed he was in trouble.

“Did he just say--” Jason started.

Dick finished, “He said Nance. I heard it.” There was a troubled look on his face, as he looked at Tim.

Damian didn't seem to know what to make of it. He assured Tim, “She's not here, and she won't hurt you. She won't ever hurt you again, I swear it.”

Tim just seemed more hopelessly upset, crying still.

Damian looked helplessly to Dick, obviously not sure what was making Tim so upset. Dick swooped in then, lifting Tim out of the playpen and into his arms. “Hey, baby bird, it's okay. It's okay, Miss Nance can't hurt you, she doesn't even know where you are.”

Tim whimpered at that, hands clenched in Dick's shirt. “I need Missanance,” he said, obviously trying to impart the dire situation in his head.

Dick looked entirely unsure how to respond to that. Hell, Jason was trying to wrap his head around it.

Why the fuck would he want Miss Nance? Why the fuck—that was seriously screwed up, why the fuck--?

“Missanance,” Tim repeated timidly, then, tried enunciating better. “I need Miss Nance, cause--”

“You do not need Miss Nance,” Damian practically growled. 

This made Tim cringe, and he whimpered out, “Need Missanance...” He looked at Dick, trying to make him understand, a frantic tone to his words. “Need Missanance, cause I am good, so good, be so good, promise--”

“Tim, it's okay. You're not in trouble,” Dick said softly, eyes pained as he tried to cuddle him close. 

But Tim was still crying, and made a rather feeble attempt to wriggle out of Dick's hold—Jason suspected the kid was capable of struggling harder, but for some reason, just didn't.

Dick attempted to calm him still, until, abruptly, he went very still and very slack, sluggishly sucking on his pacifier.

Batman put away the device.

Jason thought he might kill then. “Did you just _sedate_ Tim? Oh, fucking hell, I knew you were twisted--”

Bruce gave him a sharp look. “It won't hurt him. It's designed for children his size or smaller, and--”

“That's still messed up,” Dick pointed out, a frown on his face. “Bruce, that's not okay. You understand that, don't you? Sedating your kid is not okay.”

Bruce gave a huff, and gestured towards the playpen. “I'm sorry, but it's necessary. Barry has been able to not only come up with a somewhat more effective method, but also to determine things about Tim and his condition—it's vital we get this dealt with as soon as possible.”

He had a look on his face like, 'Be glad I'm even including you in the decision-making instead of just doing what I know is the correct response.'

Dick let out a sigh. He stroked Tim's hair, kissed him on the forehead, and gently laid him down in the playpen.

Tim didn't so much as let out an irritable breath, eyes half-lidded.

Damian didn't really seem fazed by it, which told Jason a disturbing amount about Damian's upbringing. The child simply watched, like this was a normal response to an emotional outburst. He did take the time to lean in and pat Tim on the shoulder, promising him, “I will return, Tim. Take care until then.”

Tim gave a half-aware suck of his pacifier, seemingly in response, and Damian turned away.

Jason's anger was still boiling, however. “The fuck? Are we just supposed to act like this is okay? Like sedating a five year old child is just fine and the act of a normal, caring father? Fuck that shit, Bruce, you do that again and I will break your damn face!”

Bruce gave Jason a disgruntled look, and said flatly, “There are more important things to handle right now, Jason. Please take a seat.”

Jason was seething, but he sat, doing in a rather violent manner. Apparently Alfred had taken the time to set up chairs and a table—in the batcave. 

Speaking of the butler, he was giving Batman a very disapproving look. Bruce tried to subtly ignore the man, but Jason knew enough to know he would get a rather articulate earful later. Something that cut straight to the core of the issue without being aggressive.

God, he loved Alfred.

Bruce sighed, looking across the table at them, almost each of them in turn. “Barry has discovered a method which is significantly less painful. We should use it.”

“Uh, I don't know about everyone else, but I heard 'significantly less painful' not 'painless and safe.' Cut the bullshit, we're not doing that,” Jason snapped.

“He's too small,” Cass said, and everyone present knew this meant she thought he was too young to be put through this pain, regardless of the level.

“Yeah, Tim shouldn't be put through that if we can wait! I mean, Jason's right—this time, stop looking at me like that—Tim has time. It'll be like, a while until a court date, right? So what's the rush?” Steph was right on target, and Jason loved her for it.

Well, as much as he could love Steph, anyhow.

“Steph has an excellent point,” Dick put in. “Why not give it weeks at the very least? Why not put more effort into making it completely safe and painless?”

Bruce sighed. “Because Tim doesn't have weeks. He has days at most.”

Damian's eyes were wide, and he looked to Dick.

“Okay, why is that?” Dick was the first to speak, very levelheaded given the situation.

Jason was buzzing with energy, wanted to do something, but he made himself sit still to listen. He had to know the bullshit reason Batman was giving.

“We've run tests on his DNA. It's not stable. The method used to force him to age backwards is wreaking havoc on his ability to replicate DNA and age normally.”

“So...he'd be stuck five forever?”

Damian didn't look displeased at Dick's words, which sent a kinda creepy crawl up Jason's spine. Okay, maybe Damian's motives were at least a tiny bit selfish.

Bruce sighed again. “If that were the case, then perhaps we could leave him alone for a while. But his body is going to break down, and fast. He'll start experiencing pain and probably confusion, seizures, and other neurological issues as his brain starts having issues functioning. Within a week, he could be catatonic—or worse.”

“And how do we know this isn't bullshit?” Jason demanded. “Seems awfully convenient for your plans.”

“Yes, why didn't you know this sooner?” Dick asked, in a less accusing tone than Jason.

Barry spoke up then. “We weren't looking for it then, we were looking for a way to reverse it, not its effects. Of course, it should have been more apparent after examining it for a while, but, you know, it's not a normal way for DNA to function. You see, typically, it replicates itself into RNA--”

“Thank you, Barry,” Bruce sighed. He gave a look at Dick. “We will have to do this. There can't be time wasted. I...am sorry it has to be this way.”

“No you're not,” Jason snapped. “You're getting what you wanted all along, you're not sorry, and you don't give a shit about Tim's wellbeing as long as he can fight, you fucking asshole!”

Wow. He was angrier about this than he thought he was.

Bruce just gave him a solemn look. “It may not seem like it to you, Jason, but I care deeply about Tim's wellbeing. Which is why I spent all night and what has passed of the day researching how to help him. It's a good thing I did, or we wouldn't have caught this, and he might have died an agonizing death. Would that be preferable to you?”

Jason scowled, but couldn't come up with a good response.

He could see Damian looked quite put out, but obviously wasn't going to argue for a week more with Tim dying a horrible death after that. The kid had sense, and Dick probably believed he had a conscience too—though, lately, Jason was starting to think the kid had a soft spot as well.

“Then it's decided,” Bruce said, and maybe, just maybe, that was some sort of regret in his voice. “We must do the procedure tonight.”

No one looked comfortable with this.

But even Jason had to admit it was better than Tim dying. He growled as he pushed his chair in, “We should at least make Tim-Tam comfy before he has to go through this. Make him feel, y'know, safe or whatever. He doesn't deserve to be scared of what's going to happen.”

Bruce looked just a bit impressed, as if he thought Jason couldn't be mature.

Fuck that, Jason was as fucking mature as anyone his age. Maybe more so.

They got into the logistics of making Tim comfortable, of the pros and cons of him being aware of what was happening, including Damian going into a long rant about how he had a right to know what was going on and just because he was five didn't mean he wouldn't understand--look at Damian, he understood everything that was happening to him at five, he was expected to, and there was no reason Drake should be different.

Which led to a lengthy discussion that essentially boiled down to 'different strokes for different folks'. When they were finally done talking, a lot more time had passed than Jason had thought would, though they had decided on a plan of action.

They all turned back to the playpen.

Jason's eyes widened, as he stared among the yellow blankets and spilled juice, crunched up goldfish--

Tim was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. I hope I am still doing okay with this story. I keep getting this horrible feeling I've entirely messed it up. DX
> 
> But yeah. My thought is that Tim as a five year old is generally more articulate than when he's frightened or otherwise stressed/traumatized. And he means he has photographic memory, of course, which I forget if he actually canonically does, but he believes he does in this story as a child. :)
> 
> And playpens, yay...Very common feature at gatherings for my homeschool group. The thing about Catholics, especially very conservative Catholics--lotsa babies. I still remember those ancient things hidden away in the church closets, colored like they were from, eh, maybe the eighties or so? And like, you needed extra blankets cause the padding was long gone and it was only a hard board.
> 
> My little sis was once in a playpen. It didn't work for bedtime so well, cause she had a really great time playing 'peekaboo' with us--even when the response was 'No go to sleep UGH'
> 
> Lastly...Miss Nance is not out of the picture yet. And will be in several more chapters, I believe. :)
> 
> And also, yeah, Tim is way too old for a playpen.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's reason for disappearing is found--and Jason is feeling rather like his decisions early on have come back to bite him in the ass.

“Fuck, fuck, goddamnit, how did he even--?” Jason swore, already scanning the area for any sign of Tim.

God damn if that kid wasn't like a ninja already. 

Even Damian looked rather disturbed at his ability to slip away, and he was checking hiding places in the cave. So were Steph, Dick, and Cass, of course.

Bruce was at the computer, apparently checking something.

That something turned out to be a video feed. It was replaying the last half an hour or so. At the beginning, Tim was laying in the playpen, not really moving, but he appeared to be breathing and occasionally sucking on his pacifier. It looked like he was starting to curl his fingers a little, sort of dazedly staring at the 'ceiling' of the batcave, when there was the tiniest blur—and Tim was gone.

Jason stared at the screen, as Batman replayed the footage a couple times, slowing it down more and more.

He only got the slightest visible sign of a person—what appeared to be arms covered in black—when he slowed it way down. Like, the Flash would die having to move at that speed kinda slow.

Damian had seen the screen too, and gave a growl. “Whoever it was will die!”

“We don't kill,” Batman said flatly, eyeing the frozen screen, seeing if there were any clues in the mysterious arms.

“Yeah, cause the goddamn Batman doesn't make an exception for fucking anything—Tim's not even dead, so fuck that, right?” Jason realized he was being a bit hysterical when Dick put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“Jason. You told us the story of how Tim got changed—what happened to the-the ray thing, and the guy you shot?” Dick had said this at a good time, cause Batman had been cut off from an angry rant.

Jason was about to say something assholeish, frankly, when he paled. “I...I don't know. I mean, he shoulda bled out or some shit like that--”

“Todd! Your imbecilic handling of this has caused Drake's life to be at stake!” Damian shouted at him.

“Fuck you, Damian, why the hell didn't you notice this happen? Mr. I-was-raised-by-ninjas—they sure did a shit job with you! Sure they didn't keep you around cause you were the class clown?” 

Damian turned an interesting color, and his features contorted with rage. Somehow, he had a sword, and it was pointing at Jason for about a millisecond before he charged him.

Fuck. Fuck, shit, hell! Jason didn't even have much on him, he was stripped down to basically civvies and they'd taken his guns--

But Cass had moved, protecting _him_ , of all people. She expertly parried Damian's sword strike with her wrist guards, since she was still in uniform with the cowl down. Then, rather abruptly, she pinned him.

“Stop.”

Damian howled with rage, not the type to really enjoy being contained.

Dick was by both their sides in instant, saying a rather soothing way, “Damian, it's all right, she's not going to hurt you, you just need to calm down and not kill Jason. What he said was cruel and out of line, but you need to ignore it.”

Jason snapped his attention away from Damian and Dick's therapy or whatever to look at the screen.

Batman had made a discovery.

A logo of some sort was half-visible on the arm—it looked like it had been a plastic something glued on before and ripped off, but the form still faintly remained. Letters and a ridge of some kind—like a wave or a mountain or something.

Jason leaned over. “Hey, that looks kinda like--”

“ _Match. Strand Technologies Inc._ ”

Strand. Now that Jason peered at the shape better, he knew it was the beach, sort of the line between the tide and the sand. 

Strand was a smaller company—but not like, Mom and Pop shop kinda small. Just not ginormous and blended with a gazillion other companies. Fairly independent—and Jason had sniffed something unsavory coming from them more than once, but it had been small potatoes and he and the Bat mostly left them alone.

Now, however, if they were involved in what happened to Tim...

Batman stood abruptly. “We're going to have a talk with Bernard Strand.”

Jason realized Damian was calm now, and not pinned to the floor. He still looked like someone had tried to stab his face with a sea urchin, but that was not unusual. The particularly venomous look towards Jason himself, however...not completely usual.

“Who do you need? Who should search other leads?” Dick said quickly.

“Cass and--”

Jason cut Batman off. “Hey. I'm coming.”

Batman's eyes narrowed. “What makes you think you're welcome?”

“Heh, I have no false ideas about _that_ , Bats, but Tim's my brother too and more importantly to you, I'm the only one who saw the gun thing be used. I'm the only one who is familiar with it and the dude who shot it.”

“That you let get away.”

“Shut up, Steph, fuck you!”

“Fine.” Batman said it flatly. He obviously wasn't happy about it, probably assuming that Jason would shoot everyone and everything up to find Tim.

Ha, fuck him. Jason could keep his cool when he needed to.

Jason quickly told Damian and Dick of the exact spot where the deed had been done. Meanwhile, Babs and Steph were working together to comb through police records—Steph through a visit to the police department, Babs through her hacking shit.

The ride in the Batmobile was silent.

Cass had graciously decided that being folded in the back was preferable to riding shotgun to a stewing, sleep-deprived Batman. God, she was smart. If Jason wasn't so much larger, he would've done that too. Or rather, in place of her.

Batman was nearly growling at anything and everything traffic-related—from people not moving at green lights to pedestrians deciding that, yeah, jaywalking is fun, to the sun glinting in through the windows.

Did Jason mention it was daytime? Cause, yeah, it was. Not exactly normal operating hours for Batpeople anywhere.

He always wondered if Bruce had ever realized how crazy it was to have kids working all night fighting and then have them go to school at fucking six AM. He remembered more than one day of sleeping in class or being dead on his feet, stumbling around to the next class. A power nap in the afternoon, when he got home, usually got him ready for patrol.

But yeah. Batman was being a grouchy asshole, basically, and Jason couldn't imagine he himself was much better company. It was a good thing Cass wasn't talkative—or as easily combative as they were.

They pulled into an obscure alleyway outside the gray concrete building, a bland, faded blue 'Brand' on its top. Jason was pretty sure he'd been there once or twice as Bruce Wayne's son, visits made to collaborate or some shit like that.

But they hadn't had the best stuff and it'd been terminated or whatever—the Wayne company had lost money on the projects and cut its losses.

As they got out, in full costume, the three approached shot up the wall and to the roof.

Cassandra was able to easily dismantle the lock on the door leading to the roof—any of them could have done it, but Jason could feel Batman's dark stare on him, and he was fighting not to glare back, so Cass had taken the opportunity.

They descended the stairs.

It was a mildly warm building, like they paid the A/C and heating happily but still kept an eye on costs. It wasn't like the places you walked in and were practically struck in the face with heat.

The top office was Bernard Strand's.

They entered silently, and the man himself was in his desk chair, typing away at the keyboard.

He was a blond man, with an obnoxious mustache—big, handlebar kind. Like he wanted to show off how much facial hair he could grow but he didn't want to look like a mountain man. His gray eyes were sharp, like a rat's, as he turned to look at them, not even the slightest hint of surprise in them.

“Yes? Did you need something?”

Jason wasn't sure if he was taunting or not. He was still furious with Bruce, of course, because presumably, if Tim hadn't been sedated, he might've been able to alert them or move away or something.

But this man was very quickly earning his hatred.

Batman stepped forward, saying, “I think you know why we're here. I'll give you thirty seconds to return him.”

Brand blinked, a bit lazily. “Hm? 'Him?' Him who? Who is this apparent male I have? I have many male employees, so you'll have to be more specific.”

Jason felt like he might explode. “How about the tiny child you abducted, you asshole?”

“I am no child abductor. Not my taste,” Brand said, a bit flatly. “And if you think a child would be any good to my company, well, you're more lacking in brains than your strange red helmet seems to suggest.”

Cassandra grabbed Jason's shoulder before he could charge in and show Brand just how painful his 'strange red helmet' could be.

“A colleague of mine was turned into a child with your technology,” Batman said, and Jason could see Cass watching intently, ready to pick up Brand's body language. “I ask again: where is he?”

Brand seemed to sort of take this more seriously, a small frown on his face. “That technology is not ready yet...we have barely begun testing on mice. I know nothing of it being taken outside the lab...” He turned to his phone, putting it on a line. “Zuri? Have there been reports of missing experimental tech?”

A woman's voice came back through crystal clear. “None, Mr. Brand, but Dr. Franklin Walmesley hasn't shown up to work today—”

“Holy fuck! Did you say Walmesley?” Jason demanded, glancing over at Cass. Cass nodded. 

“Frank.”

Brand's eyebrows rose, then crinkled. “You know Dr. Franklin Walmesley? He's a leading scientist in my program.”

“Which program?” Jason demanded, hand already going for his gun. “And what the fuck does he look like?”

Brand hesitated, then sighed. “I know you Bats aren't going to go away unless you find him, so I will give you the information—provided you stay away from my work after this. We are not unethical, but some of our projects are delicate in terms of public relations.”

He turned his monitor, it easily swiveling. 

Jason stared for a moment, then, then the pieces started to come together.

That was the man from when he found Tim—last night. A tiny bit overweight, flaccid cheeks, flat brown eyes—yes. The attacker was Frank Walmesley.

And he hadn't apprehended him. He had allowed this to happen.

Jason growled to himself.

“He was working on the project you say victimized your colleague. His aspect of study was the physiological effects.”

“So he'd know better than anybody what'd happen to someone changed by that ray,” Batman said darkly.

“Yes. But why? Because he's fired after this, and he knows that, I'm sure. What would drive a man to ruin his career that way?” Brand demanded.

Batman said, “Who else worked on this project? Who might want to help him?”

Brand sighed, as if realizing he wasn't going to get answers. “Fine. Uh,” he tapped on his computer, “Dr. Mannix O'Brien, Dr. Tajuana Rodriguez, and Dr. Gene Wilson. If you'd like to talk to them, they're on floor 3, usually lab B. Don't trash anything, please.”

He said it like he recognized that whoever this was, they were probably going to get violent, but he hoped they wouldn't.

Batman glanced at Cass, and she nodded.

So they headed down the stairs, and Jason's anger bubbled in his gut—as well as his own shame at not successfully protecting Tim. God, he'd basically let the guy who orchestrated the whole thing go free!

Presuming he was still alive, anyway.

It felt like his gut was being compacted, like those cars in junk yards, and he clenched his fists to keep from doing something stupid.

Entering lab B, he could see three people idly talking over coffee.

A dark-skinned woman, with a shaved-down head—a man with dark curls and a lanky build—and second man, this one with half-awake, bloodshot brown eyes and a huge bald spot in his rapidly graying blond hair.

They all looked up on seeing them.

Jason hoped they were afraid. They damn well deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. It was much easier to do short shit like A Poor Man's Hero in the gaps I had to write. This was written over a few days.
> 
> And the plot thickens! I hope. XD


	15. Chapter 15

The woman who he presumed was Dr. Rodriguez spoke first, voice holding just a hint of a Hispanic accent—Jason would probably place it as Dominican, but he wasn't sure. “Is there something you wanted?”

He would have been surprised that she seemingly wasn't afraid of superheros barging into their lab, including _the Red Hood_ , but then he saw the way her hands had tightened around her mug, the way her eyes darted to—yup, an emergency alarm system.

She was just good at feigning not being afraid.

“Yes,” Batman said flatly, “Where is Dr. Frank Walmesley?”

The dark-curled man turned his gaze to Dr. Rodriguez a moment, seemingly ignoring the older scientist. “We, ah, haven't seen him this morning--” his 'th' came across as a 't', a very slight Irish accent placing him as most probably Dr. O'Brien.

“He's been feeling shitty lately,” said the balding scientist, presumably Dr. Wilson. “He probably just didn't call in that he's dead.”

Dr. Rodriguez's mouth was in a tight pinch, but she didn't say anything against that.

Jason was picking up major vibes from the doctors, but he wasn't sure what they were. Partially, he was blinded by fucking five year old Tim being god knew where, potentially in the hands of his abuser's husband—or his abuser's hands, of course. This made a feeling like a rising dragon uncurl painfully in his gut.

“Where is the anti-aging shit? Where is it?” Jason demanded, and they couldn't see his eyes, but they seemed to flinch back a little.

They exchanged looks, this time Drs. Rodriguez and O'Brien looking to Dr. Wilson.

Wilson (Jason had decided he didn't deserve 'Dr.' in front of his name, the way the fucking asshole was looking at them) said, “How's it your business? Batman into stealing technology now?”

Batman growled, “You will tell me what's happened to the technology, and you will tell me now.”

Wilson was getting a smug look on his face, starting to insist something, but that was when Dr. Rodriguez spoke.

“I can't do this. I can't, and I won't, I do not care what you and Frank have over me, Gene. “

Dr. O'Brien looked vaguely horrified, as Wilson growled, “Tajuana, think about this—we will do whatever it takes--”

“Tell my husband, then. Tell him I fucked Luce. We need to talk about it in any case, and I cannot avoid it forever. Someone's life is at stake and I cannot stand by anymore.” Her dark eyes were blazing, and at that, Dr. O'Brien's mind seemed made up too.

“We know where he is, and we know what he's done,” he said, a bit softly.

“Mannix--” Dr. Wilson growled.

“I...I can find work in Ireland, even if you ruin me here,” Dr. O'Brien said, giving a glare at Wilson. “Tajuana's right. This is wrong.”

Jason liked these sorts of people sometimes, the kind who only needed a prod, a question asked, to do the right thing. He guessed no one had confronted them yet, and that had let them ignore what they were doing.

Dr. Rodriguez's shoes made soft clicks against the floor, and she opened a case. Inside, it held a single gun that looked somewhat similar to the one that Jason had seen—another spot in it was empty. “He took the latest model—but it's still an unstable technology.”

Dr. O'Brien added, “We don't know where to find him for sure, but he often goes to his mother's, or Nancy's mother's.”

“You're ruined. You're both ruined,” Wilson declared, mouth tight with fury.

“Is there any way to reverse this?” Batman demanded.

The cooperating pair exchanged looks.

“Not...no, we didn't focus on reversing,” Dr. O'Brien said with regret. Dr. Rodriguez added, “It wasn't important at the time. It was something we were going to get to in the next quarter.”

Batman nodded. Then, his head swiveled towards Wilson. “I am willing not to report you for what you've enabled if you leave your co-workers alone. Otherwise, you can be certain the full extent of the law—and your company policies—will be used to bring you to justice.”

Wilson's mouth scrunched up angrily. “She's my sister-in-law—what would you do for family? She doesn't deserve to have her life ruined over this.”

Jason would have charged him, had Cass not caught his arms as discreetly as possible. Her grip was tight, but promised, 'I get it. I understand. I'm mad too. But that will not help anything.'

Batman said, gruffly, “Whatever happens today, Nancy is going down. Don't drag yourself down with her.”

He left, his cape swirling behind him.

Jason and Cass were quick to disappear as well, though not before Cass gave the 'I will kill you' stare at Wilson.

Jason simply said so.

They did a quick investigation, and discovered that another technology was briefly missing in the building—a sort of interdimensional gate opening technology, meant to be used for transportation. It was what was used to snatch Tim, but it was back now.

Bruce alerted Brand to the theft and to the likely culprit—Wilson.

He was contained before they left.

It was an easy matter to look up both houses and run a search on hospitals in the area that might have taken Frank Walmesley.

Cass and Jason were sent to the less likely house, in Batman's estimation—Mrs. Bonnet's. Nancy's mother.

Damian and Dick were investigating a potential lead in a hospital, but it didn't seem too likely—and Steph was going with Batman to Mrs. Walmesley's, Frank's mother.

They were on Jason's motorcycle, Cass holding on without the tension that Jason sometimes got from other people. It was like she trusted him completely not to get them killed.

Mrs. Bonnet's house was a small one, gray-colored but decently tidy. Concrete steps led up to a front porch—this house was in what had once been a pretty good neighborhood, but now things were kinda depressed. It had old, ugly gnomes in the corners of the well-cared for garden, lawn precisely cut.

Jason and Cass briefly conferred, and he went to the door and she went around the back to watch for escapees. Mostly because, if Frank was escaping through the back, Jason would probably have to kill that dickass bitch.

Mrs. Bonnet answered the door—and she bore a striking resemblance to Nancy, though with more wrinkles and a t-shirt that was pink with her grandkids' faces ironed on. Other kids besides just two girls were on it. “Yes?”

“Hi. Where is Frank Walmesley?” Jason demanded, and quickly wedged a boot in the door as she tried to close it.

“You're the Red Hood! Get away from me!”

Well, shit. Maybe it would have been better for Cass to go to the front. He wrenched the door open, having no patience, and stormed into the house.

“Hey! Baby bird, you here? Make a noise!” Jason said, as he searched the house—tidy, with pictures and old rotary phone and furniture from decades ago.

Mrs. Bonnet was fretting. “What's going on? What are you doing? I'll call the police!”

“Mom? Mom, are you--” 

“Honey, go in the bathroom and lock the door, now!” Mrs. Bonnet shouted.

That was Nancy, and that was all Jason needed. He bolted towards the voice, growling, “Hold it right there, you fucking bitch!”

Cass had come in about that time, the screen door swinging open with a squeal.

He caught sight of Nancy in the doorway to the bathroom, and his heart nearly stopped—Tim was tucked under her arm, hanging rather limply.

Jason roared, charging Nancy just as she got the door shut, the lock clicking.

He was ready to beat the door down just with his fists, as Cass came to his side, flicking out a lockpick.

“Stop! Stop, or I'll—I'll--” Nancy said, a terrified, shrill tone in her voice.

“You hurt him, and you're dead, bitch, dead and ripped the fuck open!” Jason shouted.

“I'll make him drink all the cold medicine! I'll do that, don't think I won't, I have everything to lose if he makes it!” Nancy said, and Cass froze, knowing that the sound of the lockpick would be obvious.

“How do we know he's alive?” Jason demanded, heart thudding in his chest. 

There was quiet a moment, and then a pained little moan—definitely Tim. It only made Jason's rage rise at the thought that Nancy had done something to hurt him to prove it. “Need more proof?” Nancy demanded, voice with a hysterical edge.

Jason had never wanted to hold a person more, to feel them in his arms—he would give anything to have Tim in his arms right then. He would literally chop off his arm.

Cass looked over to Jason, mouthing, 'Window.'

He nodded, signalling that he would keep her distracted, and Cass slipped away. “Hey, Nance—or should I call you Miss Nance? That's what you have him call you, right?”

“That was a different time,” Nancy responded, voice trembling.

“'at's Jaybird...” came the quiet, dazed declaration, in Tim's little voice. He sounded strangely unafraid—but that only made Jason even more mad.

“Yes, it's me, Tim-Tam, it's gonna be okay,” Jason promised. He switched over to Nancy. “You really okay with killing a kid? I mean, what else were you planning on? You couldn't keep him hidden forever, could you?”

“If it hadn't been for you...we might have been able to have him made a ward of the state. We might've, because he would have no accurate way to ID himself, and who on earth would believe—who would have believed it?” Her voice was shaking badly, like she was trying to convince herself.

“Fuck that lying bullshit, _Nance_ , you know it's gonna kill him! You know he won't survive if he doesn't get it reversed!” Jason growled at the doorway, itching to tear the door off the hinges. Cass had better get in there soon.

“No, he'd be okay—he'd live somewhere with a family that would take care of him, that would give him a better life than—than the Drakes ever did, and he'd be happy. We were-we were going to take him to Tennessee. No one would think to look there—”

Nancy's words were still stubbornly insistent.

“Stop fucking lying. His DNA or some shit is fucked up and he's gonna die—and horribly.”

“Missanance,” came a sleepy-sounding yawn from Tim, and _god_ , why wasn't he more frightened by this monster? “'mma Jay.”

What that meant, exactly, Jason wasn't sure, but Nancy seemed to know.

“Sh...just go to sleep, Timothy.”

Horror struck Jason like lightning. “What did you give him? Why is he so sleepy?” The sedative should have worn off by now, more than worn off--

Fuck that fucking bitch to Hell!

Jason smashed through the door the same moment Cass came in through the window; Tim hung rather limply from her arm, held more like a suitcase than a child. Tell-tale, however, was an empty bottle of cough syrup on the counter.

Nancy screamed, dropping Tim, but Cass dove in time to catch him, cradling the tiny child close.

Jason, on the other hand, had nothing to occupy his rage.

“It was just—I was trying to—save him, from the horrible--” Nancy was stuttering, and Jason's fist smashed into her face as he shouted,

“You fucking liar! You fucking, selfish bitch! You were killing him to get rid of him, you fucking—fucking--” Words were a bit hard when he was _this_ angry, the blood trickling down Nancy's chin as she wailed pathetically only seeming to ignite a sort of blood rage in him.

A sharp, painful hit distracted him, just enough, to see the look on Cass's face—and hear Tim's labored breaths, his face confused and creased in fear. Cass's face was dead serious. “We have to go. Now.”

He wanted to kill Nancy, but not at the cost of Tim.

He didn't even stop to fling another curse-word-laden barb at Nancy, instead nodding and running through the house, Cass on his heels.

He barreled through Mrs. Bonnet remorselessly as she screamed about calling the police on them.

The motorcycle turned on quickly and they were off, Jason more than trusting Cass's ability to hold on and hold Tim on. What he didn't trust, however, was for Tim to last—he'd seen such deaths in his time on the street. They weren't pretty—and they weren't especially protracted sorta affairs.

He was speeding, breaking all sorts of traffic laws, to get to the nearest hospital.

He could feel Tim shaking against his back, couldn't hear Cass, couldn't hear Tim, but he could feel it—and it was like someone had abruptly put an ice cold pickaxe through his stomach when he felt Tim begin convulsing.

God, god, Tim had to make it—he would make him make it, his frozen-cold and sweat-slicked hands gripping his handle-bars tightly.

He had to.

If Tim...

If he didn't make it...

Jason didn't know what would happen.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is at the ER--and the Batfamily awaits news of his condition.

Tim was shaking like wind chimes in the most severe of storms by the time they got to the hospital, whole body just having a meltdown.

His lips were fucking blue, and Jason had never been more scared in his life.

Not even when he thought—knew—he was going to die.

Cass and him let the motorcycle clatter to the ground as they went racing into the ER. Jason barked at the ER staff, “Cough syrup overdose! He's fucking dying!”

The staff snapped into action, one nurse taking vitals and another barking questions at Jason. “His age, weight, and the product!”

Cass was faster than Jason. “5 years, 38.2 pounds, and Robitapp.”

“How long ago? And how much?”

“We're not sure—not long, and no more than a full 8 fluid ounces,” Cass responded, and Jason felt useless and stupid and like he wanted to just somehow tear the medicine out of Tim.

The tiny boy shuddered, convulsed on the gurney helplessly. His fingertips were blue too.

They were already wheeling him away, moving at a speed that you just didn't see in any other kinda of medical shit. Jason's heart was pounding in his chest, wanting to chase after, but Cass caught his arm in a vice-grip, face drawn very tight, and pulled him towards the waiting room.

“I'll kill her,” Jason murmured, as Cass forced him into a seat. Her grip was still tight on his wrist. “I'll fucking kill that bitch!”

It almost looked like Cass would say, 'Not if I do first.' But Cass just didn't kill, never would, and her grip just tightened on Jason's wrist, a murmured, “I know.”

“I'll tear her apart. I'll make her fucking suffer too, damnit, how could anyone do this to a fucking kid?” He knew, of course. He'd seen it happen. He'd lived on the streets, after all.

But he could handle having taken it himself, in the past—and he hadn't felt nearly as close to the other kids, needing to self-preserve. Cause, yeah, if you broke down every time something went fucking horrible in Jason's situation, you were going to die.

He wasn't there now. He was supposed to be powerful, to be able to protect people who needed it.

And he couldn't. Tim might be dying in there and there was nothing he could do.

Tim didn't...he never deserved to _die_ , especially not in such a horrible way. God, when Jason had beaten him nearly to death, not long after coming back—it wasn't, it never was how he felt now. It was never personal against _Tim_ , it was personal about being replaced and god, he didn't want him to die, please don't let him die--

He realized a mom was glaring at him, hands held over her son's ears. The boy had a pencil through his hand.

“Oh, fuck you!” Jason snapped, rage making him want to just punch that fucking mother in the face. How dare she try to impose a fucking stupid morality in a situation where his brother, a tiny child, might be _dying_. He wanted to just rip her damn, self-righteous, glaring face off.

Cass got a tighter grip on him. Her eyes said, 'I know. Some people just don't fucking get it.'

Jason wanted to scream. He wanted to tear apart that mom, the chair he was sitting on, fucking Nancy...His urge to hurt, to destroy, was strong. 

His urge to break down was also strong, something he was pointedly ignoring.

When Cass's face suddenly pressed against his shoulder, dropping like she'd lost the will to keep it up, he stilled. And remembered that he wasn't the only one who cared about Tim. Hesitantly, never having been close with Cass, he put a hand sort of on the back of her head, promising, “It's gonna be okay. Tim's gonna make it, kay? He's a strong little motherfucker. No fucking way he'd let this beat him—we know Tim, right? He's a motherfucking determinator.”

It actually soothed him, just a bit, trying to soothe Cass. It was fucking weird, but it helped. It helped him not destroy shit or go off on the mom. He was _needed_ , and that was enough to keep him from it.

The others arrived not long after. First, Steph and Bruce—Steph in a tizzy, both furious and heart-sick agony at Tim being beyond anything she could help evident. Jason could see the frustrated tears in her eyes—and the way she punched a hole in the wall, before Bruce sternly told her they didn't need two people with medical trauma.

Fuck Batman. It was like he didn't get it at all.

Steph sank in next to Cass in her chair (it was a wide fat people chair) and Cass held her tightly as she burst into angry tears, hiccuping about how 'that fucking bitch' should never have hurt Tim and she would kill her.

Jason agreed, but didn't say so—for now. Instead, he ground his teeth, glaring at the children's show blithely playing on the TV far up in the corner. How dare life go on, like it was fucking normal, when Tim was dying. How dare happy cartoon characters hit each other and it be funny.

Dick and Damian arrived. Damian looked like he was definitely ready to murder, but Dick was keeping a tight hold on him. He was clearly very distressed himself, but as always, Damian, his family, they came first, and Jason had to admit, Dick was a fucking good brother.

He settled next to Jason, in another fat people chair, and pulled Damian with him. He looked up solemnly at Bruce, saying, “Hey. B. How are you doing?”

And Jason really looked at Bruce. His clenched fists were trembling; his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth; his body was as tense as a compressed spring with nowhere to go. He didn't even answer.

Dick held Damian close, despite the child's attempts to be angry and be free. Damian growled, “I'm going to rip out that woman's heart and eat it. It should be the last thing she sees--”

“Robin,” Dick said, obviously trying so hard not to fall prey to his own very strong emotions, “We can't do that. We can't. We'd be as bad--”

“We're not killing children, we're killing a child abuser!” Damian shouted back, “In what world is that the same thing?!”

Dick held him tight, and managed through a painful tone, “I don't know, Little D. I don't know.”

It was agony. It was like time was passing through a fucking wall—it wasn't. It was like it was still the exact same minute he and Cass had come in. It was an eternity of not fucking knowing.

And then—then, thank god, thank god—a nurse appeared. “He's stabilized. Are you his--”

“Yes, we're his family,” Dick answered first. “Please, let us see him.”

She seemed unsure about letting costumed vigilantes in. But Dick's tone must have rung true to her, because she nodded. “He's not conscious, and he's on a breathing tube—his lungs are not doing so well, but he should be off it—not certain when, but we're confident he will come off it.”

She turned to look at Cass and Jason. “We'll need details on how this boy—Tim? Ended up consuming that much cough syrup. He's lucky—when the dosage isn't known, it can be hard to counteract.”

“Yeah, okay, we'll do that,” Jason promised.

They entered the room. And Jason wasn't prepared for the wave of emotion that attacked him.

Tim was...just fucking tiny, dwarfed by the blankets and oversized, dino-printed gown on him. He was pale, and that tube just stuck out of his throat like he was dying. Like he was brain dead or some shit. His eyes were shut, but there were still clear tear tracks down his cheeks.

Jason couldn't remember if he'd been crying when they'd rescued him. He'd probably been pretty frightened.

An IV stuck in his foot, a bag nearby on a stand.

“Don't crowd him,” the nurse said, voice clearly sympathetic at the looks on their faces, the emotions washing through the room. “I'll take your statement in a bit.”

Jason walked forward slowly, and his hand rested in Tim's little toes—perfect, round little toes that didn't even slightly respond to his touch. His foot was just so small, still slightly pillowed like a baby's. Soft, not calloused or with the toenails gone or anything like that. It almost made Jason laugh—this was the foot of someone who had barely set foot in the world.

He realized he was laughing—and crying. He could feel Dick's hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly, and he had little doubt his brother was feeling very similar things.

Cass was gently brushing Tim's hair back from his face where it had been carelessly left, and Steph was saying, to Tim, even though he wasn't conscious, “Hey, Timmy. Hey. It's okay now. We're here, it's okay, kay? You have to pull out of it, we're here and you're safe.”

Because like any Bat, she knew prolonged unconsciousness was fucking bad—anyone could remain in it. Even if the nurse hadn't said so, they could all pick up that this was bad. There was no natural, good reason to be unconscious—anesthetic was hardly natural, and still had its dangers, and Tim had not been given any anyhow.

They must have stayed there for hours, all of them. Damian's helpless rage eventually changed to busily adjusting the sheets, checking the IV to make sure it hadn't fallen out, and double-checking Tim's temperature—anything to feel useful.

Steph chattered away to Tim, and Dick joined in sometimes, all while gently stroking Tim's head or his cheek or so on.

Cass sat on the couch-thing with Jason. Both were watching keenly, feeling like they couldn't just push their way in.

And Bruce...stood sentry. Stood there and didn't move.

They gave the statement, provided what information they could. They got everything handled that they could.

And then, Tim's eyes fluttered open.

They immediately filled with panic, as he choked on the breathing tube, but Dick and Steph were quickly calming him down, trying to get him to breathe, as Damian pressed the call button several times.

“Hey, hey, it's okay, Tim, it's okay, just try to breathe,” Steph promised, as the nurse bustled in.

Jason's fists clenched as he felt like she took her sweet, precious time removing the breathing tube as Tim made little choking noises, eyes wide with panic no matter what Dick and Steph said.

“Hey, baby, it's okay,” the nurse cooed softly, as she got it out. Tim breathed normally, still obviously a bit out of it, and reached almost drunkenly for Dick, letting out a little moaning sound.

“Can I...?” Dick asked uncertainly.

The nurse nodded, cautioning, “Be very careful of his IV. It's more than long enough, but you still have to be careful not to rip it out. We didn't need a catheter this time, so no problem there. Be gentle.”

Dick nodded, and gently gathered Tim up, the tiny child patting his hand against Dick's right pec as he sucked his fingers, head pressed up against Dick's chest. He was clearly weak, clearly scared—but soothed now.

Jason and Cass joined Dick and Steph on that side of the bed, and Tim's eyes flicked over to them, recognition dawning fairly fast. He gestured towards Jason and Cass, making a small noise, tiny fingers spread out.

Cass pressed her hand against his, smiling at him. “You're all right. We know. And I love you too.”

Tim seemed happy with this, a sort of slight, dazed smile on his face. It was like he was drunk or something. Jason stepped forward, hesitantly stroking his hair.

Tim turned up those blue eyes at him, that look like, 'Could it be possible this many people care about me? Am I sure that this is real?'

It broke Jason's heart, and he murmured, “Yeah, Tim, I love you, kay? We all love you, even Dami.”

“'m dead?” Tim asked, as if this much affection clearly meant he had to be in Heaven. Like this kind of thing did not exist on Earth.

“No, Timmers, you're not dead. Thank god, you're not dead,” Jason said, feeling like he might cry again.

Damian had elbowed his way in by the point, and looked at Tim with a frustrated sort of affection—the only way Jason knew for sure it was affection was that was the way that he'd looked at Tim the whole time he'd been caring for him. “Good thing you lived. We'd have to murder that bitch the hard way otherwise.”

“We're not murdering anyone, Damian,” Dick said, not in that usual way, but sort of a sidenote. 

Tim was okay. And that was all that fucking mattered, as he looked up at them like he couldn't believe they were all here for _him_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. I am so sorry it took so long to update this. It's just been a hell of a month and it was way easier to update A Poor Man's Hero and that was more therapeutic at the time. Kinda had to focus on what helped me the most, honestly.
> 
> I hope y'all liked it. Her mention of the catheter is that, often, in overdose cases, they'll collect the urine. I forget entirely why, but it has to do mostly with making sure the kidneys are working and shit.
> 
> I am glad to finally update this one. It's not over yet, though.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim recovers.

Tim was doing better later on. The nurse had informed them that yes, guardians and such were allowed to stay the night, and usually it was only one or two, but Tim seemed to be responding very well to the relative crowd in his room, and so the doctor decided that it was all right for them to be there—provided they got out of the way for medical treatment.

By then, Steph had produced a binky for Tim (apparently she'd decided to carry one in her utility belt or some shit like that not long after Tim started using one again) and he was curled up in Jason's lap.

It had been hours, honestly, and they had been taking turns sitting on the hospital bed and holding him. On Jason's lap, he was clearly sleepy, and kept nuzzling his nose into Jason's knee, given his cross-legged posture that made a sort of basket for Tim to be in.

Dick and Steph had gone to the cafeteria to get them all some food and coffee. Cass perched on the couch, as Damian was unwittingly dozing on her shoulder (the kid was apparently exhausted, as the rest of them were, but hey, he was a kid, he got to sleep).

Bruce stood almost unmovingly near the doorway, keeping a sharp eye.

“Jay?” Tim's small voice broke through the quiet, and Jason swore he saw Damian twitch.

“Yeah, Timmers?” Jason replied, running a finger along Tim's forehead. That made Tim shut his eyes for a moment, in that relaxed way, and then he continued talking around the binky.

“I wanna love you,” Tim said, his voice very serious.

It was strange phrasing, of course, but Jason pieced it together. “Okay. But you have to be careful of your IV, okay?”

He was a little concerned, but he thought he knew what Tim meant. Tim twisted around, avoiding pulling or tangling his IV, and flopped his arms around Jason's neck. It was awkwardly placed, clearly, like he'd maybe seen it in a movie or seen one of the Bat family do it very recently, but then he pressed his face into Jason's neck. His nose was a bit cold, but it was fucking adorable and Jason's heart gave a weird little squeeze as he gently wrapped his arms around Tim.

“Hey, Tim Tam. Hey. I love you too.” He rubbed up and down Tim's back. The intense feeling of gratitude for Tim still being alive was not nearly as intense by now, but as he felt the small, warm, and not convulsing body against his chest, he silently thanked god or the staff or something that Tim had made it.

Tim's hands clenched in Jason's jacket, and he murmured, “Yeah. Yeah. Hi, Jay.”

Jason only let him go when it seemed Tim wanted to be let go, and his tiny brother resettled in his lap, narrowly avoiding hitting him in the groin. That was close. Tim curled up, his IV foot sticking out straight.

The nurse had mentioned it was possible to move his IV now that he was more hydrated, but she thought the pain would scare Tim. They'd agreed to keep it where it was for now.

It was a very short while later that Jason felt Tim's body totally relax, and soft sleep sounds make their way out around the binky. He looked over to Cass, an overwhelming feeling in his chest—there was something he couldn't quite describe about a tiny person trusting him enough to sleep on him, particularly Tim.

Cass was slightly smiling, and her eyes moved towards Damian, as if to say, 'Look, I've got one too.'

That made Jason almost laugh, but he didn't want to wake Tim.

Dick and Steph returned about then, able to pick up that they needed to be quiet and entering soundlessly, handing out sandwiches and coffee; Damian was not woken.

Bruce finally moved away from the entrance-area, and said, gravely, “I believe he has stabilized.”

“Yeah, no sh—no. No, you can't,” Jason said, it hitting him like a lightning bolt what Bruce was getting at.

Dick was frowning. “Come on. He needs a chance to recover. He's been through a really traumatic, decimating--”

“And he's only going to get worse,” Bruce said, and finally, finally, Jason could hear discomfort in his voice. “It's a lot, but he'll be all right. Think about what Tim's survived already; he can make it. And the longer we wait, the more likely he'll destabilize.”

Jason could feel Tim's little breaths against his hand as he rested his wrist on his leg. A sort of rage, a protective instinct, seemed to rise in him. “No, B, that's not okay. You don't even fucking know--”

“I care for Tim as much as you do,” Bruce said, somewhat sternly, as though this was hard to admit, somehow. “And that's why we have to do this. Barry's checked and double-checked—there's no way he's going to last a long time, and there's more likelihood of long-term damage the longer we wait. Especially with something like this happening.”

“Fuck that, you don't give a rat's ass about Tim!” Jason practically snarled, and damnit, he was too loud, because Tim startled awake in a sort of panic, and with a pained sound, had torn out his IV.

Jason did note the angry storm cloud that was Bruce's face, but it was an afterthought. “Tim! God, I'm sorry!”

Cass had already come over, as Damian leaped into wakefulness and a protective sort of stance, and she caught Tim's foot gently and offered quiet, soothing kind of shush sounds. Tim gave a small whimper, looking around in fear, as if sure that this meant he was about to be hurt again.

Jason stroked his hair, as Dick pressed the call button and Cass stopped up the blood coming from his foot with a gauze pad from her belt. Thank god for having that kinda shit with them all the fucking time.

“I'm sorry, Tim, I was just mad—not at you, I swear,” Jason said, feeling a little frantic and sick that _he'd_ provoked such a reaction from Tim. It felt like another lifetime where he'd once beat the shit out of the kid—it felt like he was a horrible monster for doing anything that could upset him this way.

Tim leaned into his touch, though, pressing himself against him with a sniffle. One hand clenched in Jason's shirt, and Jason realized what Tim had thought—not that Jason was going to hurt him, but that someone was—because Jason had reacted the same way as with Nancy or other shit.

And it was _sort of_ true, but he still felt very rotten about it.

The nurse arrived, and she looked just a bit disapproving of them, but instead of reprimanding, immediately set about rectifying the situation. She got a bit of tape for Cass's gauze, instructing her to continue putting pressure on it while she got another IV in.

“How is he with needles?” she asked, in a casual tone that was intended not to alarm Tim.

They really didn't know. The looks they exchanged made her sigh a little. “Talk to him while I put it in, please, so he's not focused on it. I'm going to use an infant needle.”

Jason nodded, and turned to Tim. “Hey, Timmers! Who's your favorite superhero?”

Tim looked at him for a long moment, then admitted, shyly, “'s Superman.”

Jason would've thought it would be Batman, but he wasn't going to question it. “Kay, tell me your favorite things about Superman—or just anything, I wanna know about Supes, okay?”

Tim seemed to take this seriously, nodding. “Superman has a eye—with a—a...yeah. He has the big muscles, cause it's big.” Tim flexed his arm in demonstration. “A lot. He can leap tall buildings in a single bound!”

That sentence was obviously pulled from somewhere. It was so much more articulate than the rest. But Jason nodded along. “Okay, what else? What about--”

“I lika Flash.” Tim confided this in a small voice. “He's got red hair.” He patted his hair with the hand that the nurse wasn't holding. “Red. Real red.”

Barry definitely did not have red hair. Jason wasn't entirely sure where Tim was getting this. “Okay, Timmers. What about Wonder Woman?”

“Um, yeah. Um. She's tall,” Tim said, as if admitting something.

Suddenly, his eyes turned bright, and he said, “An' I like Robin!” His eyes absolutely sparkled, and he said, “Robin has a—a big yellow flap, and--”

Oh god, Jason thought he might die laughing—or trying not to laugh. He called the cape a flap.

Tim flinched at the feeling of the needle going in, but the nurse was already patting his cheek and smiling at him, saying, “Wow, you were a big boy! You were so good!”

A certain amount of very shy pride came across Tim's face, and he looked down at his knees, mumbling, “Yeah. Yeah.”

The IV was back in, in his arm, and Jason gave Tim a hug. “She's right, you were very good. You're always good, Tim Tam.”

Tim seemed unsure of that, but he seemed to allow Jason to say it without disagreement. He curled one of his hands in his hair, and leaned against Jason's chest, binky in his mouth and seemingly content.

Jason kept him in a secure hold, one that he felt would make Tim feel safe. Damian had settled back onto the couch, frowning, and the nurse had gone.

He could feel Batman's eyes on him, and he glared in his direction. “No. Not yet,” he said, keeping his tone fairly even and calm but feeling rage. That there was a yet still bothered him,, but he had to acknowledge that it wasn't best for Tim to die of this thing.

Reality, apparently, was that keeping him a child was not a choice.

He saw Cass gently card through Tim's hair, and watched the small child seem to relax even more against his chest—he was trusting them all not to hurt him, and goddamnit, if they did this...

He wanted to cry. Angry tears. It was stupid, even as he saw Bruce come closer, a grim bent to his mouth. “Jason,” Bruce said, “Of course I care about Tim. I want him to live. That's why we have to do this.”

It was better than an 'I know best' explanation, but it didn't make it easier to stomach. He wanted to clutch Tim to his chest and run. He wanted to protect him from pain—the kid'd been through a whole fucking lot more than enough. It wasn't fair.

Of course, life was not fair, Jason knew that—but it didn't change the fundamental feeling in his chest.

Tim looked up at him then, blue eyes slightly unsure, questioning. “Jay?”

God. God, this wasn't—they couldn't do this. He could see Cass was hurting too, hands still gently carding Tim's hair but looking like she wanted to just fight the hurt like a human opponent.

Dick had come round, a pained frown on his face. “There's no way to stabilize him? There's no way to make it work?”

“It would be more than even Barry could figure out in the time frame we have,” Bruce said, still grimly. “These scientists haven't figured it out yet, and they've been working on it for about three years now—not counting preliminary research and such. Reversal is mostly possible because we know how they did it to begin with—a sort of reverse engineering.”

He could see Damian worm his way in, gently putting a hand on the back of Tim's head. Like he wanted to hold on to Tim, keep this tiny child here rather than the Tim who he believed hated him. “It's wrong,” he said, a bit quietly.

“It's less wrong than letting him die,” Bruce responded.

Jason's heart felt like it was in the maw of a massive dog—but he bowed his head. He'd rather Tim lived than, well, anything else happening regarding Tim.

“Okay. Okay. Let's just get it over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all liked it (and don't kill me for the cliffhanger). I missed writing this story a lot. It's...just, my baby, I guess.
> 
> Merry Christmas! (I'm probably going to post more fanfic before and during Christmas, but yeah. :)
> 
> (And I would say Happy Hannukah, but it's already over... I forget if Kwanzaa and Ramadan are, though. I guess Happy Festivus too...? :P)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is taken home and prepared for what Jason hopes is not the most traumatic thing of his life.

They checked him out kind of early. Or, rather, snuck out. Brought the IV bag and all--Bruce murmured something about making a donation through the Wayne foundation.

It was almost funny, because he already donated literal millions to this hospital and other gotham hospitals. Not even mentioning medical research.

Tim was in Damian's lap, in the Batmobile. Jason had felt almost a panic at watching Damian fold into the back with Tim, the fact he wouldn't be able to see Tim or protect him once the entrance was closed, but he felt Cass's hand on his shoulder.

He could see Tim's head pillowed on Damian's shoulder and his folded-up cape--ha, a flap--and the hospital blanket he was wrapped up in, the way he placidly sucked on his binky.

He had no fucking idea, and that hurt more than him knowing and crying and screaming about it, somehow.

He watched Batman strap the pair in. He thought the Batmobile had a carseat, but maybe only for smaller children? Or perhaps Bruce realized Tim needed Damian--or someone he trusted--more, and he trusted his driving skills or some shit.

Jason didn't know whether to think it was stupid or not.

He and Cass climbed on to his motorcycle as the top closed and Tim was hidden from view. The Batmobile took off, and he and Cass followed--Dick followed with Steph seated close behind, given that he'd brought his motorcycle and Steph had not brought hers. And Dick was a bit weird about his vehicles.

Jason should know. He'd stolen--'borrowed'--them plenty of times.

He could feel Cass holding tightly--fingers, not arms, not in an attempt to keep from falling off. It was a feelings thing, and god...He kind of wishing he could do the same thing, but he had to drive.

They made it back to the manor in good time.

He could see Bruce carefully carrying the IV bag, as Damian carried Tim. Alfred was already down there, in the Batcave, food and warm blankets and just about anything Tim would need sitting on standby.

Including a set of his normal-size clothes.

The group had clustered together like they rarely did, near the tiny child that was now looking up at them with curiosity. He seemed to have recognized the solemn atmosphere, and said, around his binky, "What?"

Steph grinned at him, saying, "It's okay, Tim. It's okay." She looked like she was fighting tears.

Jason was terrified of what would happen to Tim, if he was being honest. It wasn't like his whole thought was that this kid was adorable and he liked him--he knew enough to know something like this, developed in a day or two, Flash or no, could not be that great.

He would have preferred at least a year of goddamn testing. Some way to know for sure it wouldn't hurt Tim, that they wouldn't be left with an empty shell or a Tim driven mad or some mutant-looking Tim--or a dead Tim.

But even he could see Tim was weak. He was a tough kid, to have survived this, to grow up to be who he became, but his body was weak. Tim wasn't supporting his head--not in a way like he was comfortable, but rather like it was an effort. His fingers kept curling in--kinda like a baby's. Clenching in a fist, like he couldn't help it.

Jason swore Tim was drooling.

And it could all be the poisoning--but he didn't know. If they were losing him to the effects of reverse aging, then...could they take the risk to wait? To find out for sure? If sure meant Tim was dead?

Dick started stroking Tim's hair back from his forehead, and Jason couldn't help a slight smile as Tim's eyes fluttered shut, a look of contentment on his face.

He could hear Barry and Bruce approaching, their boots making a noise, slight grind of tread on metal. He kind of wanted to fight them.

It wasn't fair. Tim's eyes were shut, and Jason could easily see the tension picking up in Dick's shoulders--hell, all their shoulders and postures. None of them really wanted this to happen, were afraid of the unknown like never before.

He could see Damian wanted to say something, but was choking it down. Probably to keep Tim from spooking.

He was a good kid, at heart.

Barry knelt down next to them. Alfred had made a soft area, because they just didn't know how the reaction was going to be. "Hey. We gotta move him over there."

Dick's hand left Tim's head--but Tim's eyes seemed to crinkle in discomfort, and he reached for the hand with a discontented noise. Dick went back to it, as Damian slowly rose.

Alfred removed the IV very carefully and gently.

Tim barely seemed to flinch at that.

They had to strip him, which Tim watched with mild bemusement. Then, they covered him in blankets, sort of a weird nest, Jason supposed. Tim started, however, when he was left on the ground, out of Damian's arms.

Dick crouched next to him, still smoothing his hair back. "It's okay, Tim. Just stay right there, okay? I'm here."

There was a clear, rising dread in Tim's eyes. Like he was suddenly realizing something he wouldn't like was about to happen. "Dick, no..." came the quiet assertion.

"It's okay. I'm here, I'm going to take care of you," Dick promised, and Jason wanted to get in there, wanted to somehow take that dawning horror off of Tim's face.

Cause how exactly do you get a five year old child to understand he is actually sixteen and 'oh hey, we're just going to make you grow up really fast, kay?'

Barry was crouched next to him. 'The cure' was a similar-ish ray gun looking deal, Jason would guess some sort of fucking weird radiation/hormone/space-and-time-bending shit he didn't know about. "It's okay, Tim. We're just giving you a medical treatment, okay? It's like...cold medicine."

Barry winced at that. Poor choice, and Tim latched on to Dick's arm with all his might, hanging off like a marionette with only some strings attached. 

"Dick! Dick, please, 'm sorry--!"

"Nonono, Tim, it's okay," Dick assured him, "It's like...a bandaid. Or, uh, allergy spray?"

At least he didn't say shot. Tim managed to press his face against Dick's arm, but then his head fell back again, like the energy was gone, and he just looked up at Dick in teary-eyed confusion.

Jason decided to step in--cause fuck, he didn't think he could fuck it up worse, right?

"Hey, Timmers," and he could see Damian start forward out of the corner of his eye, Bruce catching his shoulder, "Hey. It's Jay."

Tim looked at him in confusion, letting out a "Yeah?" almost like a cross between a fearful sound and a 'I know who the fuck you are' sound. His hands were having trouble keeping a grip on Dick, and Dick shifted to cradle his head with his free hand and bring the arm Tim was gripping down against Tim's chest, hand gently resting on his shoulder.

"Hey. Do you remember the guy who was hurt?" Jason hoped that wasn't traumatic, but, yeah, really only example he _knew_ that Tim knew.

Tim said, "Yeah. He--he had a blood, all over him."

Dick was looking at Jason like he was crazy.

Jason pushed forward anyway. "Well, he went to the hospital, and got it fixed. No more blood, no more hurt, right?"

Tim seemed to understand that much. 

"Right now, you're...hurt too." It felt like lying, it felt like goddamn lying--it was. God, Jason wanted to just--maybe claw his own face off, the way Tim was looking at him with such trusting eyes, "So, we're gonna give you something to get better. No more ouch, no more feeling bad. Just like the guy."

"With the blood?"

"Yes, the guy with the blood."

Tim seemed to concede that he wasn't feeling very great, though he seemed intent on keeping Dick's arm pinned to his chest. "Okay." His eyes seemed to quaver a bit, though. "...not to die?"

"No, not to die. To feel better." God, Jason was the absolute fucking worst. He didn't even fucking know Tim wouldn't die.

He didn't know it would make him better, much less _feel_ better.

Tim seemed somewhat uncertain still, saying, "Like a nurse?"

"Just like the nurse, Tim," Jason promised, and hated himself.

Tim seemed to accept this now, and it would be Jason's fault if Tim never allowed himself to be medically treated again. Hell, he felt like the entire blame for if it went wrong was suddenly resting on his shoulders like a rock.

Dick shot him a grateful, if pained, look, and seemed to gently move his thumb along a portion of Tim's scalp, that instantly seeming to calm Tim.

Then he kissed his forehead, and said, "I'm only going to step away for a minute, okay, Tim? Just a minute--you won't even know it's passed."

Tim seemed uncertain, watching Dick like he might latch on with everything he had--limbs, teeth, all that--but then he sank back, letting go of Dick's arm. "Okay. Cause lellow."

Ah. The blanket was yellow, and god, he could see Tim's fingers do their best at digging in to the soft blanket. Dick moved back.

Tim looked tiny in the blankets--they were too big for him. He looked too small, shoving his fingers in his mouth in the absence of his binky as he watched Barry with a bit of skepticism.

Jason could still do something. He could take the ray-thing--he could jump in the way--he grab Tim and run--

But then, Barry had pressed the button, and, and, it went to work--no stopping it now.

Jason could only crush Cass's hand--and feel it crushed in return.

God help them if they weren't right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. I am not completely evil, I just realized that the changing and stuff would take a more mammoth chapter than I am able to write at this moment, unless I just cut it short and it just didn't fit well then.
> 
> I did not mean for it to take so long--it's just been a heck of a time. And feeling out the right way to go and all that. I hope y'all enjoyed it, and I will post the next chapter as soon as I am able to write it in one chunk--which shouldn't be long, as we're out of the holiday season at work and the illness I have been afflicted with seems to be wearing off. DX Anywho. Thanks for reading for so long! There is more to come!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim goes through the reverse aging process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very slight ableism--which will probably be addressed in the next chapter.

The scream was unearthly--it changed in pitch too fast, was all over the place in agony and fear. Jason felt like he would break Cass's hand--or she would break his.

The blankets thrashed, flew, as they aged eleven years in mere moments, as Tim seemed to jerk like a wind sock in a hurricane.

"We have to--!" Damian started, frantic growl in his voice as Bruce held him tightly back.

If any of them got in the ray's way, goddamnit, they would be ruined too. They would be destroyed, and damnit, damnit, Jason's heart lurched and he wanted to run in there and pull him out but there was nothing that could be done, and he was _so fucking useless_ \--

It stopped.

It stopped, and only frantic breaths filled the cave. Tim was in the middle of the aged blankets, fully grown to what had previously seemed a diminutive size to Jason, but now seemed way bigger. He was skinny, maybe skinnier than usual, his hands clenched in the blankets, and his blue eyes snapped open.

They looked around in confused terror. He tried to talk, but his voice came out like it was broken.

Dick was there first, followed by Steph. He crouched down next to him, saying, "Tim! Tim, please, god, tell me you know who we are!"

Tim wordlessly reacted--striking Dick in the jaw, sending him falling onto his back, given the way he'd been crouched. He'd artlessly swept Steph's feet out from under her too, nearly tumbling over himself as he got to his feet to run, stark naked but seemingly unaware.

"Tim!" Bruce called this out almost sternly, almost as if to say, 'Stop panicking--this is who you are. Sit down.'

But Tim ran, and he was sure to pitch off the edge of some chasm in that state, so Jason had moved towards him--at the same time as Cass. It was like they were moving in unison, same ideas, same motions.

They caught ahold of him, and he let out a fearful sound, a sort of desperation to break free, to get away from the unfamiliar and terrifying--and Jason knew that fear. He knew what it had been like to get out of that goddamn pit--similar expression, he was sure.

Tim was roughly the same height as Cass, so Jason held him tightly against his own chest, saying, "Timmers, it's me, it's Jason, you know who I am! You're safe--I swear to god you're okay, kay?"

Cass was helping hold him there, keep him contained and hopefully feeling secure--in any case, it was a better alternative than knocking him out or pinning him to the floor. Her hands smoothed down his back, and she seemed to hum a bit to him.

Tim was trembling violently, whether the cold or trauma--or both.

Alfred was there with a blanket, not one of the damaged ones, and Cass moved away enough to get Tim covered in it.

Tim seemed to be trying to say something--but instead all that came out was a jumble of sounds, a desperate need to be heard and to understand.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jason promised, though his heart was thudding in dread--what if Tim was ruined? What if they'd fucked him up?

Cass seemed to read his thoughts, and stroked Tim's hair reassuringly. The boy seemed disoriented, dazed, eyes looking around in confusion. He made another sound, another attempt at words, and Jason just held him tighter. He didn't seem to be fighting to get away right now, just shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"It's okay, Timmers. It's okay."

There was another spot of confusion in Tim's face--like the nickname was strange. Like he didn't recognize it--or he did, but it didn't belong here.

"It's okay," Cass murmured, still moving her hands soothingly in his hair.

Dick and Steph had joined them by now, and Barbara had also wheeled over.

Jason could feel the way Tim seemed to curl in a bit, hands clenched in his jacket. Probably not a condition he'd ever expected himself to wake up in--naked and confused. Probably a pretty fucking scary one to wake up to.

He could see Barbara put a hand on Tim's side, murmuring, "It's good to have you back."

Tim's eyes seemed to lock on her, then Dick--recognition. Some recognition anyways, it seemed. Jason wasn't exactly the best at reading people, so sue him.

"D-d-d-d-d-" Tim was trying, stuttering horribly over what must be Dick's name.

Dick seemed to brighten a bit on that, a soft smile on his face as he put a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder. "It's okay, Tim, I'm here--"

" _Don't!_ " Tim finally managed, a full body push against Jason--one that nearly broke his hold, in his surprise. Tim may have seemed somewhat less muscular, but he knew, or remembered, enough to be a challenge in his weakened state.

They were kind of stunned, and this time, when Tim pushed away from Jason, he succeeded. Cass didn't try to stop him, but Steph did, reaching out for his shoulder.

"L-l-l-l-" Tim swallowed hard, spitting out, " _Leave me alone!_ " like every syllable was difficult but worth the effort. He wrenched his shoulder free, and with the blanket clutched around him, ran.

He was still shaky, still clearly shaken up, but as his head ducked down and he raced up the steps, up towards his room, it was clear he was at least still Tim.

"He needs to be alone," Cass said into the quiet, as Tim disappeared upstairs and Dick looked like he would chase him.

"Why the hell would he want to be alone?" Dick demanded, a note of despondence in his voice. Jason could see Damian had turned away, an antisocial hunch to his shoulders.

But Jason got it instantly, as much as he wanted to--to--just _fix_ it, smooth out the anger and upset and make the tangled strings straight again (as straight as they ever were). "He's upset. Sometimes you gotta fucking deal with it alone, Big Bird."

"Not forever," Cass said, when Dick started to protest, "Just now."

"I will listen outside Drake's door to make sure he does nothing stupid," Damian muttered, and he exited.

Somehow, Jason decided they could trust Damian. That he wouldn't harm Tim.

Even as his heart did a weird little flutter thing--that fucking bastard. Shut up.

Bruce walked over to the monitor, not showing much emotion. He turned on a camera, and Jason could feel a weird churning in his gut as the screen showed Tim, in his room.

The boy was dressed now, hastily thrown on Superman t-shirt (backwards) and a pair of gray sweats that just did not match well. He was rummaging through his room, fast, darting to every part of it. He checked his food store, and Jason could see his head jerk in what must have been cursing--he could clearly tell they'd been there.

His movements were getting more frantic, and the creepy crawly feeling in his gut made Jason say, "Hey. That's fucking--just. God, give the guy some goddamn privacy!"

"We don't know his mental state--"

"Well, it seems to be fucking pissed and needing some alone time!" Jason snapped back.

"He needs to be alone," Cass repeated.

"He is alone," Bruce responded.

"Oh, I forgot, the goddamn Batman _has_ no boundaries," Jason snapped.

Bruce turned a cold glare on him. "It's my job to make certain he doesn't do anything he'll regret. I am his father and--"

"Jay's right," Dick put in, a bit sternly, "Your lack of boundaries have destroyed plenty of relationships, several of them right here in this cave. You need to leave him alone until he gets the chance to calm down. Damian's on standby if things get crazy--crazier, I guess. Turn the damn thing off."

Barbara was looking down at her hands at the moment.

Like she knew something.

And of course, Jason already knew what she knew. But he wasn't the one to say something.

"They watch us all." Cass gestured with her chin towards Barbara and Bruce. Her tone was almost accusatory--like she meant it towards them only halfway.

Steph rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we know. I found a camera in my goddamn bedroom last week--"

"What the hell?" Dick demanded. "You didn't put cameras in my..."

His voice trailed off at the look on Barbara's face--trying to hide it. Kinda. Then her green eyes flashed up to meet his, and she said, "Dick, someone has to make sure nothing happens to any of you--"

"Thanks for volunteering, Babs! We sure feel safe knowing you see our naked asses on a daily basis--" Jason said, a little too high on the stress of the moment to think about regulating his humor. Maybe he should have, because she flushed red and snapped,

"Okay, A) your ass isn't that great, Jason, the one or two times I saw it, and B) I do not spy on you in intimate moments, okay? No sex, no nudity, no defecation, so on--the cameras are there for emergencies, and can detect movements like a struggle. It's not a peepcam!"

Dick just sank into a chair, the opposite reaction that Jason would have expected. The eldest brother turned his blue eyes up towards Tim on the screen.

The teenager was bundling things into a bag--almost indiscriminately, it seemed, but at the same time, everything had a place, and he seemed to be picking out shit he would actually need, like he'd planned this and had a mental checklist drilled into his skull.

"Shit. He's running away," Jason said, certainly recognizing that. He'd done that as a small child.

It hurt more than he made it sound. They'd obviously fucked up. They'd messed up Tim--and god knew that kid was kinda delicately balanced to begin with. 

Bruce stood from his chair. "I'll talk to him."

"No, you won't!" Steph snapped, somehow managing not to quaver with the look that Bruce turned on her. "Someone he might actually trust should talk to him!"

"He trusts me," Bruce said rather flatly.

"He shouldn't," Jason muttered.

It turned out, no one _here_ , in the goddamn Batcave, was going to be the one to talk to Tim. Damian had apparently heard the suspicious sounds, and entered the room.

Shit. Fuck, shit, that was bad--and it looked like the beginnings of a major confrontation, if Cass's minute stiffening on seeing the posture Damian took was any indication.

Fuck figuring out who would be best to bring him down from the freakout--they'd better figure out who would keep Damian from harming him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ableism noted was Jason assuming that Tim is 'broken' or 'ruined' cause of the seeming effect on his speech. It's not extreme, but it is a microaggression--one I've experienced! Yay!
> 
> Same with my good friend, who had a stroke and had people treat him like he was stupid cause he had a hard time speaking. He is extremely intelligent, and that was very hard for him.
> 
> Tim is stuttering much like I do after a devastating event. However, how much of that is just a stress response thing or a permanent thing is left to be determined. Because I'm half evil. 5% melodramatic angst too, after all.
> 
> And I did it! I say it is still the weekend, kay? I wanted to update this weekend, but I had some sort of complication with breathing and just...ugh. But, ta da! I hope y'all like it, there's more to come!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The confrontation goes down. Jason's hoping nothing is damaged beyond repair--people or relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are still not gonna like Bruce. :P

They'd all run--minus Babs and Alfred, pretty much. 

There was no way in hell that Damian was going to handle Tim in a way that wouldn't make them fight, that wouldn't set off some sort of cataclysmic shit. Jason felt like his heart might give out at this rate, the way people kept nearly dying of late.

Well, specifically Tim.

He might've laughed at the thought, a non-humorous laugh, a must-laugh-cause-otherwise-it's-too-sad laugh, had he not been putting everything into getting there before Damian ran Tim through with a goddamn sword.

Cause, he wasn't banking on Tim winning that fight.

Dick got there first--kicked open the door, shouting, "Damian, stop--!"

He was speechless, and threw up his arms in sort of a surprised self-defense. Jason turned the corner at that moment, and what he saw left him speechless a moment too.

There was Tim, curled into a the tightest sort of shut-out-the-world posture Jason had ever seen him in--as small as he could get, face hidden, shoulders seeming to shake. His duffel bag was on the bed, halfway zipped up.

Damian was on one knee sort of in front of him, a comforting hand on his shoulder--and a goddamn sword pointed at _them_. "Get out."

Come on, surely Damian was actually about to break Tim's neck or something. "Fucking hell, Damian, what the fuck?"

"Vulgarity implies stupidity, which is clearly the case here-- I said _get out_."

"Damian, we just want to help Tim," Dick said, tone very cautious.

"Yeah, we actually like him, unlike you!" Steph snapped, seeming near rage that Damian was standing between them and Tim--while simultaneously threatening their lives.

Damian didn't so much as blink. "I don't care. Get out."

God, he was so--so--

Much like Batman.

Bruce stepped forward, saying, "Damian. Stop this, now."

"Father," Damian said, a sort of patience with someone who doesn't get it tone, Jason thought, "I am acting in Tim's best interest. He needs you all to leave. Completely."

"Oh, you get to stay?" Steph demanded, "What the fuck, Damian?"

"Damian, you clearly think you're doing what's best for Tim, but you're not," Bruce almost growled, "You put away your sword, and you go down the Batcave and--"

There was the warning flash in Damian's eyes, the one that said he was about to rend things further. "Go down and continue surveying Tim from there? Like you, Father?"

Jason could see the tight, quick hunch of Tim's shoulders, the way they started to shake harder--suddenly, Jason had the thought that it wasn't just sorrow or something. 

It may have been rage.

He could see the way Cass looked to Bruce, clearly trying to get him to back down, but before she could even say anything, Bruce said, darkly,

"I was watching him for his own safety--he was about to run away, and if we hadn't known--"

"He _is_ running away," Damian responded, a cool tone.

Jason could see Bruce's eyes narrow. "What is that supposed to mean, Damian?"

"He is leaving. He's going to go stay with his friend, the Superboy," Damian responded, and Jason might've been impressed that he managed to say it without the usual derision, only a touch of 'stupid superpowered teenager who doesn't know how good he has it.'

"I won't allow it, not in this state," Bruce said flatly.

"I do-on't n-n-n-n- _need_ your goddamn p-p-p-p-p- _permission_ ," Tim growled, still stuttering badly, but the anger was very evident. His head lifted up, and his blue eyes were full of more anger than Jason had ever seen in them. An almost irrational, desperate rage seemed to be there.

"You're not in a state to make that decision," Bruce responded, "And you're a minor--"

Tim barked out a laugh. "W-w-w- _wouldn't_ w-w-w- _wanna_ break the goddamn l-l-l-l--"

"Tim, stop. I will only talk to you about this when you are mentally stable--for now, you stay here, under our watch." 

Bruce probably couldn't have chosen worse words, Jason thought--and Tim obviously thought so too, cause he rose to his feet, stuttering a few consonants and then settling for an inarticulate snarl. His whole posture screamed, 'I will fight you, I will kill you all' and Jason was pretty sure they didn't want Tim in that kinda mindset.

Damian was standing near him, clearly on his side, sword still drawn. He was wordless, but his face clearly showed he would back up that sentiment from Tim.

"Okay, everyone, just take a breath," Dick said, hands out in a placating way. "We are not fighting here."

"Should we take it outside, then, Grayson?" Damian said sharply.

"No, you little fuck--" Jason stopped himself, continuing on, "He means we're going to calm the fuck down and not have a freakout, kay?"

"Tim, it's okay--we're not going to hurt you, I promise," Steph said, and the tone was gentle--probably too gentle.

Tim seemed to be very visibly repulsed, a sort of shudder going through him, face turning an angry red. "D-d-d-d- _damn_ right you're not--g-g-g- _going_."

He also looked like he wanted to add, 'I would fight you to the death first,' but it was beyond his ability to easily communicate, other than in the glare that put Superman's laser vision to shame.

It occurred to Jason exactly where he had seen this sort of look before--a cornered animal.

"Tim, you can't go--you have to testify!" Steph probably should have thought that through, because Tim's face couldn't look anymore stricken, Jason thought.

Couldn't look anymore like he either wanted to go hide under a rock and die--or kill them all with said rock.

"He has to go!" Damian snapped, "Unless you want someone to die, he has to go!"

The someone wasn't clear--but Jason suddenly had this sinking feeling like he sort of knew who the someone might be. He looked to Bruce, saying, "Hey, B--he's gotta go. He needs to get away from this."

"No." Bruce said it like that was the end of it.

Tim looked like he was going to tear his own face off. He was breathing harder, and that was about when Jason realized there were tear streaks down his face. And now the tears were starting back up. "K-k-k-k-"

"Don't threaten me, Tim. You need to calm down--or we will have to take measures to help you do so."

Tim just seemed to sob, a half-scream, like there was no other way to express the feelings stuck behind his stuttering tongue. Damian's expression got sharper, though, as he practically snarled, "You'll do no such thing."

"Fuck, Bruce, stop being a goddamn asshole--" Jason started, a kind of anger starting to take him over like a furnace turning on in his chest.

He could see Dick take a similar look, saying, "We're not going to help you hurt Tim! He's been through enough--"

"I am not going to _hurt_ him, I am trying to help," Bruce said, voice very irritable. Seeming angry that they dared to question his methods.

Well, fuck him, almost everybody was angry here, he wasn't special. "Goddamn it, Bruce, you can't force him to get better! That's not how it fucking works!"

"Damian, stand down," Bruce said, obviously trying to hide the anger threaded throughout his words.

Jason was a little surprised to see Tim's eyes dart to Damian almost fearfully--not afraid _of_ Damian, but afraid he wouldn't stay, it seemed. That he would turn on him. Tears were still streaking down his red face, and he seemed to be struggling with the fact he couldn't stop them either.

"I won't, Father. You won't harm Tim," Damian said, voice still as sharp as the cutting edge of his sword, and it suddenly clicked in Jason's brain that he was calling him _Tim_ and not Drake.

Something big had changed here.

Cass was the one who made a major move first--stepping in the middle of the group--Tim and Damian on one side, everyone else clustered about the door on the other--and said, "Stop."

"I'll stop when Father backs down, Cain," Damian snapped, a thick irritation in his voice.

"Both of you," Cass said a bit sharply, "All of you. Stop."

"This isn't a situation that can be resolved by stopping," Bruce said, a bit flatly.

"Yes, it is," Dick said firmly, and his eyes turned towards Tim, whose face was still red, still streaking with tears. "It's okay, Tim. No one's going to force you to do anything. We're not--"

"D-d-d-d-" Tim broke off with a frustrated snarl, but the way he was repulsed by Dick's look was obvious. The way he turned away, looked like he wanted to claw his own skin off. " _No._ "

The 'no' was uttered with a certain amount of desperation and urgency. And Damian moved as though to block Tim from view, even though he wasn't quite tall enough for that yet--kid would be, though, he was practically Tim's height already, only a few inches shorter. Tim was goddamn tiny.

"Grayson. Stop."

"Stop what?" There was a note of despair in Dick's voice, like he just wanted so badly to help but he couldn't--didn't know how. The usual ways weren't working, clearly.

"The eyes. Stop it with that look." Damian's tone was hard, was a clear indicator that Dick needed to stop _right the fuck now._

And Jason got it. He realized.

Tim felt humiliated, ashamed, like he was on display. And that was so painful to realize--because it wasn't Tim's fault. It was never his fault.

But did Tim ever really know that?

"Kay, guys, we need to clear out. Come on. Everyone the fuck out but Damian," Jason said, the fact that he couldn't do anything himself not the most unusual feeling, even if it wasn't an easy one.

Damian's sword glinted, as Bruce seemed to hesitate. The man's face was in a tight scowl.

"He is not staying with the Kents."

"He is." Cass said this, not Damian. Jason could see Steph's mouth tighten, a sort of swallow that seemed tense, but she said nothing.

"We're going to calm down now, kay?" Jason said, keeping the feelings out of his voice--cause god knew those fuckers'd mess it up. "We give Tim some space, then we figure things out--In a timely manner. Today."

Dick grabbed Bruce's arm. The Batman could have thrown him, but, thank god, he allowed himself to be led away with a characteristic scowl. Almost as if he was promising to himself he would not change his stance on what to do with Tim.

Jason kind of wanted to gather everybody up and be like, 'Hey, time for a bat beatdown! The old man needs some fucking sense knocked into him!' but really. Really, he wasn't going to do that if he didn't have to, you know?

Bruce wasn't _bad_ \--just misguided. Really sorely misguided. Like needs a good kick in the ass and maybe a good dollop of empathy to set him straight.

That was why Jason did what he did--he'd always felt more strongly in general than Batman. He couldn't just let bad people continue to do the messed up shit they did that hurt people. It wasn't okay--too many people suffered because irredeemable bastards were allowed to continue on without punishment.

They weren't people to Jason. Or they were--they were just a cancer as well. And you got rid of cancer any way you could.

He only got one more glimpse of Tim as they left--his whole body was quivering, but he seemed determined to remain standing, to glare at their backs like he would attack if they made one move that seemed like reneging. 

God, how could someone make a kid that way?

Still. They settled downstairs--the camera had apparently been disabled by either Damian or Tim while they made the trip downstairs.

He wondered if they smashed it to little pieces.

He hoped they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. What've I been up to the past week? Getting asthma attacks and having my boundaries violated. Great week all around.
> 
> I was crying and laughing cause I'm like, 'Well, perfect fucking timing for my story!' cause humor helps you live. :) I know exactly how Tim feels rn.
> 
> Ableism will be addressed in next chapter, most probably. Fun shit.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is Tim going to go to the Kents'? Or will Bruce have his way?
> 
> Either way it goes, it's hardly a quick fix.

If Bruce didn't get a clue soon, Jason was pretty sure someone was going to beat him to popping him in the head. 

Cause Cass was looking half-murderous, Dick was glaring at anything but Bruce, Steph was clearly on edge, and even Barbara looked ill at ease with Bruce. And, of course, Jason was always just this far away from hitting Bruce.

Anyway. At the moment, the Dark Knight was outlining what they were going to do to heal Tim.

"He's going to need some sort of therapy. The return to his proper age was highly traumatic, clearly, and should take at least a couple days to work through--"

"You're not fucking serious, are you?" Jason demanded.

Bruce gave him that look that said, 'Am I ever not serious about these things?' "Tim is tougher than you give him credit for. Just because you saw him as a small, traumatized child doesn't mean he is still that small, traumatized child--"

"Oh, fuck you! Did you ever get him goddamn therapy for any of it?" Jason demanded, "Cause I know you sure as shit didn't get me any therapy for fucking anything. Learn any lessons there?"

If looks could kill, Jason would be dead right now.

"Jason makes a good point in a bad way," Dick said, clearly on edge, "Tim talking to me, just a bit, about this stuff, is not enough. God, I didn't know it was just the tip of iceberg--you should have done something. You knew."

"Yeah, now freaking _Damian_ is up there with him! The kid who tried to kill him--he trusts him more than any of us!" Steph's voice was very clearly a 'Look what the fuck you did! Look at it!'

Ha, as if Bats didn't think that development was as bad as most of them. 

Well, Cass clearly didn't think so, as she mostly directed the clear ember of anger towards Bruce, and Dick _probably_ didn't think so, given how much he tried to convince them Damian wasn't a bloodthirsty little monster and shit. So, yeah, mostly Jason, Steph, kinda Babs, and Bruce were really upset at this turn of events.

Bruce's mouth pressed into that line that could either mean, 'None of this is my fault' or 'This is entirely my fault and I must bury it.' It was hard to distinguish sometimes. Bruce didn't like to feel guilt about them, Jason guessed--he had enough with his parents' deaths and shit.

Or so Bruce looked at it. It was like he had a guilt bucket and he couldn't let it overflow.

Jason groaned, flopping into the nearest chair. There were a couple at this point--Barry's, Bruce's, and of course, Babs didn't need a chair, so that left them both open. Said hacker was tapping away at the keys pointedly, not saying a word to any of them.

"Bruce," Dick said, in a voice that suggested this hurt him a bit, like he wanted to just hold Tim to him and magically solve all his problems, "We need to send Tim to stay with the Kents. Conner understands him better than any of us--and more importantly, he isn't feeling upset with Conner. The only other people I'd suggest would be Bart or Cassie, but Bart's probably not a good choice right now, and Cassie's off world with Diana. So--"

"I'm not sending him away."

Bruce's tone was flat.

"Fucking hell, only you would--goddamn, B, it's not sending away, it's fucking _letting him go_ ," Jason clarified for Bruce. "He's gonna hate you if you keep him here. Hell, he probably already does."

Alfred cleared his throat at that point. "Hate may be a strong word. What he feels right now may be temporary--but Master Jason makes an important point. The anger he feels now could be permanently entrenched there if you keep him here against his will."

Bruce pressed his lips tightly together. He seemed almost like he didn't want to oppose Alfred's words, but then he said, not looking at any of them, "He's staying."

"Oh my fucking god--" Jason got in before Dick snapped,

"Bruce, that's not okay! You need to let him make his choice here--"

"Yeah, he's not staying," Babs agreed, but in a peculiar way. Like it was already decided, not a disagreement. She wasn't tapping on the keys anymore, Jason noted, and suddenly, sort of swell of delight seemed to come up in his chest.

Fuck yeah, Barbara, way to go!

"What did you do?" Bruce demanded, voice changing from flat to almost growling.

Babs held up three fingers, and counted down.

_1...2...3..._

"What's going on?" 

Clark Kent, aka Superman, news reporter, super boy scout, and all around American Super Hero of the Century.

Jason shrunk back a bit, in all honesty--and Cass seemed to subtly move a bit in front of him, strangely enough. Maybe it was just a coincidence--she wanted to be closer to the Big Blue.

But Superman didn't even direct a glance their way, arms crossed over his chest as he took in the scowl on Bruce's face. "Barbara called me."

"Well, you can go. I apologize for the inconvenience." 

"No--well, he can go, just not yet. Not until he takes Tim with him," Barbara said coolly. Jason had forgotten she could be kinda awesome at times.

Okay, really fucking awesome at times. Kinda unswayable, at times, without her own decision involved--and she had apparently made the decision that Tim needed what he actually needed, not what she or Bruce wanted.

"Tim?" Superman tilted his head--and then his face turned a bit into a confused frown. "His heart's beating very fast. What happened?"

The lead lining would prevent him using X-ray vision to look and see what Tim and Damian were up to--but it was very difficult to sound proof the cave for Superman.

Bruce scowled. "It's a family matter. Leave."

Jason wished Barry was still here. The man had had to head home--he said there was an issue with Bart and school. Yes, Barry wasn't completely responsible for Bart, but Bruce had mentioned something about a 'physical altercation' which, if you knew Bart, was not really typical.

Cass was uncomfortable around Superman too, Jason suddenly realized. Her body was kinda tense, though her face calm.

Hell, Steph seemed to be, to an extent, too.

Dick, on the other hand, cheerily said, "You can talk to him, if you want. Just don't startle him. He and Dami would probably explain better than Bruce." There was a steel sharp edge under those words. Dick's blue eyes were on Bruce.

Bruce turned to the screen, taking over from Barbara sourly. If you knew him, you could tell--and literally everyone in this room knew him.

Clark nodded. He ascended the stairs, walking normally.

It must be weird to be an alien, Jason thought--yeah, there was being an outcast, he'd been there, but wielding so much fucking power? Enough that he could legit kill someone with his pinky by accident?

That was one reason Jason wasn't certain on the safety of Clark being allowed to operate unchecked. And on the other hand, also the reason he sort of avoided him. Clark, if Jason wasn't prepared for him, could easily seize him and have him locked up. Could do that with almost any of them.

He felt like maybe, just maybe, Cass could evade, (long shot, okay, but if any of them could...), and that Bruce was literally always prepared for Superman to go rogue (or turn against him, anyway--not synonymous).

Bruce probably always had kryptonite on him. Jason wasn't sure, but he felt like Bruce had started that habit sometime into Tim's run as Robin.

Jason wished he could spy on Superman, kinda. That he could know that Superman at least was going to be sane about this. That he could know what a decently well-adjusted person would say to Tim. Jason himself had always been bad at that, he guessed.

Then, of course, it took several minutes. Jason wasn't sure if he expected Superman to just whoosh out of there with Tim in his arms, not so much as a 'Ta ta' or whatever, but a solid ten, silent, uncomfortable minutes later, three sets of footsteps were on the stairs.

Damian, who was looking like he was ready to fight anybody--Clark, who had that whole broad-chested protector of the small thing going on, and then Tim.

Tim had his bag on his shoulder--figures he didn't have someone else carrying it. The look on his face was barely smothered rage, and it was clearly at them. His lips were pressed tightly together, his one hand clenched the strap of his bag on his shoulder, and his eyes were hard, practically sparking.

He wouldn't look at them.

Or anyone, really.

"Tim," Bruce said, apparently not trying to dissuade Clark yet, "You have a choice to make here."

"Oh, you're giving him a choice? Or are you browbeating him into doing what you want?" Jason sniped, but when Clark looked his way, he shut the fuck up.

Bruce continued, "You have a choice. You can stay here, bring that woman to justice, and settle back in to your life. Or you can run away."

His voice suggested he knew exactly which was the right choice.

Tim turned away, blanching at that, and Damian seemed quite on edge, hand resting a touch more tightly on the hilt of his sword.

Clark legit glared at Bruce. Good for him. "That's not fair to him at all, Bruce. You can't--"

"The case has been filed. He has a choice now that he should not have had to make--press charges, appear in court--or let her go. Forever." Bruce's anger was clearly directed at his other children, even if it might not be as apparent to Clark. He wasn't a bat brat, so, he didn't know all the looks.

Tim made a weird choking noise, and turned to glare at them--eyes somewhere one Bruce's chin or throat. "N-n-n-n- _not_ g-g-g--"

"You can't force him to make that choice," Damian supplied. Tim looked almost grateful, behind the anger.

"There is not a third option in this case, Tim," Bruce said sternly, "Beyond extrajudicial justice. Nancy--"

Tim positively paled, eyes shut. Damian's teeth clenched viciously, as he snarled, "Leave him be! He's going to stay with the Kents."

Clark cut in then. "How urgent is it that he makes a statement?"

There was an aura of protectiveness coming off Clark, a kind of, Boy-Scout-must-protect-the-injured-squirrel-from-the-bullies feeling. Maybe less dehumanizing and shit to Tim than that, but still.

Bruce was quiet a moment. "Not long. At best, a few days. Normally, it would take much longer, but Tim is high-profile due to being both a Drake and my son." He let out a sigh. "They probably think they're doing me a favor on top of trying to look good for the press."

"Press?" Tim managed to whisper, the _s_ a touch elongated. The positive fear in his eyes, the horror, like people had just started parading corpses around him, was enough to break Jason's heart.

And it hit Jason like a bolt of lightning. This was probably the Bat's reason for not doing anything, and as fucked up as that was, _god_ , the look on Tim's face was enough to make him want to take it all back. Fuck, he'd had it bad enough as a kid from the streets without them knowing every bit of shit he went through.

Tim was breathing kind of fast. Apparently, people could literally try to kill him and he'd be fine, but his secrets...

And no fucking wonder.

"We have a few days, then. We need to go," Clark said, a touch sharply. "Let us know if they call. We can be here quickly, if necessary."

He turned to Tim. "May I?"

Tim was near tears again, and he just nodded. Jason wasn't sure if they were rage tears or sorrow tears or what. He just knew it was more than Tim should really have to deal with, given everything he'd already been through.

Superman picked him up, carefully, and nodded at Damian, who gave an almost disinterested nod back--but his green eyes were on Tim, a not so hidden fury there, and probably concern.

"See you." Clark said shortly, and then, a blur--he was gone.

Bruce let out an annoyed huff. No, annoyed was too weak a word. Too petty.

Jason wished they would have just let him kill Nancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Whew. I've been trying to get this done for almost a week now. *headdesk*
> 
> I hope you liked it. With Bruce, I believe his reasoning has a titch to do with how he reacted to trauma as a child, but he's not necessarily computing that this is a very different trauma--for example, there isn't much stigma on people whose parents are murdered, as compared to sexual abuse victims.
> 
> But yeah. Media circus. DX Poor Tim.
> 
> Oh, and Jason is definitely uncomfortable around Superman *now* as compared to when he was Robin (when they got along quite nicely, it seems) because now he is definitely a murderer in Superman's definition, and that guy could do literally anything he wanted.
> 
> Cass, similar lines--though, of course, that's more of a guilt thing, cause Superman probably would never blame her for her single kill. But also that whole opposites thing--she lives in the shadows, he's very much in the light (to be poetic). Which is one reason him and Batman aren't always good at getting along either.
> 
> Also, Cass has developed something of an attachment to Jason--and vice versa.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has to face the media circus.
> 
> He shouldn't have to, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It might be a touch weird. I have been writing this in snatches while recovering from my head injury.
> 
> I'm gonna be honest, I got a little stuck, so I apologize for the long delay in updating. I wanted to get it right, then I froze a little, and yeah... DX

It felt like shit turning on local or semi local news of any kind. Jason just wanted to kill all journalism at that point, who the fuck needed newspapers to tell shit like this anyway?

The rags were the most prevalent, pictures of Tim splashed across the cover, usually bad ones, such as when he was frowning a little or looked really tired. 

'Wayne heir to face abuser in court!' 'Timothy Drake-Wayne has a past no one knew about--until his nanny was brought to justice!' 'Drake-Wayne accuses nanny of child abuse--ten years later!'

And, while they could potentially fight such things, given that Tim was a minor and deserved his goddamn privacy, the internet was abuzz, and there was no legislating _that_.

So, Jason wanted to kill everyone so they'd stop being so goddamn awful.

Tim hadn't come back yet, had been given a reprieve from the media circus before it hit full force. Tim was not fond of media attention at all, and this was decidedly negative attention, and that poor fucking kid was going to...

Jason didn't want to think about what Tim would go through. He already knew how nasty tabloids and shit had been when _he_ was adopted, and he could only imagine what they would have done had they known more than they did about his past.

Tim hadn’t even called them. Well, Jason got the impression that perhaps there had been a short call with Damian, which was weird as fuck, but Damian wasn’t about to tell anybody.

But the need to come in, to identify his abuser and press charges, was approaching them fast, and Tim would have to decide.

Just remembering the tiny child with such fear and issues, and then the angry grown Tim, made Jason hate that anyone had done this to him. Whatever ‘this’ was—the abuse, not stopping the abuse, turning him into a child and forcing him to face it—just all of it.

Jason would have loved to simply send a bullet into Nancy’s brain. Her husband had been found, was said to be recovering—after convenient memory loss. He had no fucking idea what he’d done, or so he claimed.

The fact that he’d known Tim was Red Robin, though, sat heavy in Jason’s gut. Did Nancy know? How much information did anyone involved even have?

She—the goddamn bitch—had tried to claim that they were going to put Tim somewhere he’d be safe, grow up normal and shit. Jason was pretty sure she’d known the kid would die an agonizing death, but what if she didn’t? Obviously, she was a total piece of shit, but that didn’t mean she made it up.

The news was on when Jason headed into the living room. Damian was watching the TV with a scowl.

‘…claims that this is an unfounded attack and Mrs. Walmesley did everything she could to care for Drake-Wayne. In her latest book, Fiona Gregg explains how sometimes, a child’s traumas or imagined traumas can end up attached to the wrong person—“

A stupid bitchface woman with blonde hair and too much makeup was smiling, eyes stupid serious. She had a picture of her book in the background, what appeared to be a stylized photo of a small child about to bite an adult hand on the cover. “Yes, it’s a psychological phenomenon I’ve seen pretty consistently in more privileged children. They feel like they aren’t living up to everything they were promised, due to being what we would call spoiled, and so brutally attack the easiest target—“

Jason didn’t even hide the snarl that ripped out of his throat.

Damian didn’t ask him to.

The next bit caught his attention. “Yes,” Fiona Gregg responded, “I am fully on board with testifying for Nancy Walmesley. Just because men have power doesn’t mean they get to take out their frustrations on women or other people with less power. It isn’t right to attack the powerless.”

Jason laughed at that. “Damn right, bitch. Damn right—how about a tiny kid? That powerless enough for you? Goddamn bitch!”

He hadn’t realized he was shouting at her, fury boiling in his veins, until the lamp was through the TV.

Damian looked up in annoyance, standing sharply. “I was watching that, Todd.”

“There are other TVs,” Jason grumbled.

Things had been kind of tense since Tim left. Damian had refused to speak with Bruce, for instance, and Jason had definitely been snapping at people more than usual. Cass was the only thing holding him back from fighting the rest of the family at times. She always seemed to sense when he was about to lose it.

Damian sharply turned to leave, an angry tension in his shoulders.

For fuck’s sake. Jason said, probably more annoyance in his voice than he wanted, “What? Gonna watch Tim get fucking reamed by the press on a different screen? Cause it’s fucking everywhere, you don’t have to look hard—“

“And whose fault is that?” Damian demanded, eyes hard and angry as he turned back towards Jason. “Why put such faith in a system that doesn’t work when our own is at stake?”

Jason snorted. “You’re getting mad at the wrong person, ninja bird. I woulda taken her out if they’d let me. Put this to fucking rest, instead of dragging out his fucking insides this way.”

Damian snarled, hands curling into fists. “It’s not fair! I would have kept him safe if they’d just—“

“We couldn’t keep him a kid. That’s long off the table,” Jason sighed, wishing he weren’t right. That it hadn’t been true. “You can’t change the past, no matter how much you want to.”

“ _I know that!_ ,” Damian snapped back, eyes a touch shiny. “I had a chance to, though, we all did, just one—“

“Hey, he seems to be on good terms with you,” Jason pointed out. “Just…don’t focus too hard on it. It’ll hurt you in the end.”

Jason knew from experience that fixating on things he couldn’t fix…it just didn’t fucking end well.

Damian snarled back, “How can I not? How can I pretend it didn’t happen, that all of you made it worse and—and—“

“I didn’t say pretend it didn’t happen,” Jason said, not rising to the bait, “I said don’t let it hurt you. Cause that shit can hurt like a motherfucker.”

Damian just glared at him and stalked off.

He probably wasn’t going to listen. Jason wouldn’t have.

He could only hope that this shitstorm died down—that people got bored. He doubted they would, but there was something extra at stake—

Their alter egos were involved. And if that couldn’t be explained away, they were in for a world of trouble.

\--

By the time Tim returned, the media was frothing. Theories were being tossed around, completely uninvolved people were making testimonies that were entirely made up, people were taking sides.

Tim managed to return quietly. His eyes were dark, wouldn’t meet theirs. Dick moved a bit hesitantly to hug him, and got a scathing glare in return.

Damian moved to his side, and wasn’t rebuffed.

That little shit.

“Tim. We can arrange for a nondescript car to take you, but I can’t guarantee—“

Tim cut Bruce off, “I know. You can’t guarantee anything.”

It looked like the stuttering was gone after about three days. That was probably a good sign. The angry look, however, was not.

Bruce said, perhaps a bit stiffly, “We tried to do what was best.”

“Well, it clearly wasn’t,” Tim returned sharply, not looking at them as his cheeks seemed to color a little, his nose wrinkling. Damian looked ready to fight at that.

It would almost be funny in another circumstance that Damian was that protective. Like an angry little pug.

Jason said, trying hard not to sound condemning, “You’d better get going. Whatever happens, y’know, we’re gonna support you.”

Tim’s look said he didn’t trust him. Didn’t trust that that was true of all of them. That he trusted very few people, and maybe they weren’t in that select group anymore. His hooded eyes swiftly turned towards the ground, and he looked much like he’d rather go to sleep and never wake up.

Damian moved to block Steph when she made a move like she would try to hug Tim.

Tim was exactly the kind of person to shut people out, Jason knew, and Damian was aiding him in it. But…he honestly couldn’t say it would be better the other way. That at least Tim probably felt more secure with Damian on his side.

Which was messed up as fuck, but hey.

Tim headed for the car without another word to them, Damian tagging along. Bruce murmured instructions for Damian to stay in the background, out of sight, should paparazzi appear. It seemed like Damian was ignoring him, though.

It already showed up on the news in the half an hour it took to drive there.

Live feed showed the car pulling up, showed it stay there for a while. The tinted windows offered no way to see what was going on inside, and goddamnit, Jason would love to just shoot the goddamn bastards who were putting this on the news.

Finally, finally, he saw Tim step out, hand clenched. He thought he saw Damian’s shoe in the open door, but Tim was quick to shut it and keep Damian from view. The usual security was around him, faces expressionless and bodies giving off the signal that they would protect should the paparazzi come too close.

Tim walked fast, purposefully, ignoring the questions thrown at him. It was as if, if he took his eyes off the door of the station, he would completely lose his nerve.

He probably would.

Jason wished he was there to protect him, that _someone_ was. That kid was too stubborn for his own good.

Maybe. Maybe not.

He entered the police station, and several officers blocked the paparazzi from getting in, thank god. Finally doing their goddamn job.

A reporter looked at the screen, dead serious look in her eyes, as she asked, “And in all of this madness, where is Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce seemed to flinch. Like he woulda been there if he had been allowed. Like he’d known how bad it would look.

“Fucking bitch,” Jason murmured.

There seemed to be a unanimous agreement in the silence that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Legally speaking, Tim has a right to privacy as a minor, but as a celebrity of sorts, it would be a shit ton harder to protect that privacy, and fighting it after it's literally everywhere would not that effective.
> 
> Also, I realized an excellent song for how Tim's feeling is Ribcage by Mary Lambert.
> 
> And I am just glad to update this after all this time. Some of the processing of my own feelings, as I'm coming to terms with the abuse in my past and my escape from it, has made it hard to write this, I think. It's not the same, but some of the feelings are.
> 
> Plus, the feelings of a child who can't escape...that's some rough shit to revisit. And the feeling of no one having ever done anything about it, no matter what you did, and people not so much believing you in the present...urk. Hits close to home. 
> 
> And head injuries are fun and make you want to throw up pretty easily, jsyk.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is in deep shit. And Jason is sick of the bullshit surrounding the whole media circus, but there's little they can do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, discussion of rape? And the difficulties facing people who aren't pretty young girls? (Not to claim they have it easy, no one who is raped does, but it's a different set of challenges)

Tim hadn’t come home soon after going to the station. It had driven everyone antsy, but Babs had told everyone to leave him be. Had said he deserved some goddamn privacy.

Jason had to agree—even if it was a little rich to hear that coming from Babs. Sides, Jason got the feeling Tim was just that far from physically attacking them, and hey, if he calmed down before coming home so he didn’t, that was totally cool with Jason.

Because he was definitely coming back to the manor. He had to be on hand for the case.

Jason would have gladly offered a safehouse, one of his crummy apartments, but Tim kinda hated him. Or at least didn’t trust him at all.

Damian was the only one at the moment, and he definitely didn’t have safehouses cause he was like fucking ten years old. Jason might’ve made a joke about him having a secret treehouse had it not been such a bad fit for the actual situation.

Finally, finally, the car pulled in. The doors swung open, and Damian stepped out first, challenging glare towards the house like he knew they were watching—and was telling them to stay the fuck away.

While Jason was pretty one hundred percent certain he could take Damian, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t get cut up or some shit, and it didn’t mean that it would improve things at all. He watched from a window quietly instead.

Tim looked like hell. He almost seemed to stagger out of the vehicle, and alarmingly nearly fell down. Damian caught his arm, steadying him, and they headed towards the manor.

It was fucking weird.

Both had fought each other in the past, Damian had literally tried to kill Tim—and now there seemed to be no one Tim trusted more. It was fucking weird. 

Tim had really poor taste in trusting people.

And that brought Jason to a snort of laughter, no humor. Because he suddenly understood some of the reasoning. Because he’d been there.

_Damian was safe because he wasn’t an adult._

Other reasons too, of course, it wasn’t like Tim chose things based on one factor alone, but that must be why Dami and not Cass. Not Jason, not Dick, not Steph. Seemingly not even Alfred.

He wondered how much of Tim was still reliving being a child. How much he still was one, how much he retained when he came back. It wasn’t like they had a way of really knowing without getting some weirdass telepath to probe his head.

And Batman did not like telepaths, for good fucking reason.

Jason had almost expected Dick to go racing out or at least try to see Tim, but Goldie kept his distance. Like some massive dog realizing it frightened the kittens.

Jason really wanted to follow and see what Damian and Tim did, but as much as he wanted to know, it was kind of majorly fucking important that Tim wasn’t spied on. That he had a chance at privacy. With how much it was gonna be invaded, he needed that a shit ton.

The TV was on in one of the rec rooms, so Jason popped in. Steph was there, watching the TV with almost misty eyes, even though there was definite rage there.

The reels were playing.

“Nancy Walmesley claims innocence, claims to have been harassed by Timothy Drake-Wayne due to his dissatisfaction with his parents’ affection. Expert on misplaced aggression in incredibly privileged children Fiona Gregg had this to say after the sighting of Drake-Wayne at the Gotham Police Station.”

Fiona Gregg appeared onscreen, lips an ugly plum-naked mole rat color, and looking at the camera and everyone present. “This is an injustice that we can’t let stand. You saw Drake-Wayne at the police station when he pressed charges—he stared straight ahead, shoulders erect, like he couldn’t be more righteous. When men like this feel entitled to beat down other people for their imagined hurts, we are all hurt. Someone who was truly harmed wouldn’t act this way—but a narcissist would.”

A voice asked, presumably a reporter, “Are you claiming Timothy Drake-Wayne is a narcissist? And could you clarify what you mean?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Fiona Bitchface Gregg replied, eyes warming a little like a camp stove getting lit, the kind that would burn your food, “Timothy Drake-Wayne fits a classic narcissist. He’s outwardly charming, but cold and distant. He sees nothing wrong with what he does if he supposes he deserves it—and of course he does, growing up as rich as he did. His taking out his anger on Ms. Walmesley is the lashing out of a child who couldn’t have what he wanted, despite having everything else. This is made quite clear in the statements he made on leaving the station.”

Jason could have killed that bitch, and who the fuck made such conclusions so goddamn early? But, what the fuck did Tim say? “Hey, what’d Tim say outside the station? He said nothing on the way in, right?”

Steph looked up. “I recorded it. I’ll show you.”

Her voice was somber. It didn’t bode well.

But before Steph could switch it, another reporter asked a question. “Does it bother you to defend an adult against a child who claims abuse?”

Fiona Gregg shook her head. “Of course not. The misconception here is that being a minor makes him a child, an innocent; it doesn’t. If he were only two years older, this wouldn’t even be a question. He is not a completely mentally capable adult yet, in the sense that his brain isn’t finished developing, but neither is a 21 year old’s, and we still hold them responsible. Drake-Wayne is both more than capable of being responsible for his actions and the harm they cause, and of making up this story. Just because Ms. Walmesley is older than him doesn’t indicate guilt—if we claimed something similar, like that a pregnant teen must have been raped, we cast our stereotypes and subsequent shame on women who don’t deserve it.”

“Just show me the comments he made,” Jason ground out. How could this goddamn woman talk like she knew what was really going on? She didn’t even know Tim.

Steph flipped it over with a tight-lipped look.

Tim was onscreen, pale and stiff. He was marching like a robot almost, back towards the car. He looked to Jason like he might have thrown up. His hair was a bit messier than usual, and his shirt was a bit wrinkled.

His eyes were straight ahead, going through the gauntlet of reporters, paparazzi, when his eyes ticked to the left.

Jason hadn’t caught the question, but he knew the mistake had been made.

Tim’s lips parted a moment, and then his teeth snapped together, and he said, loud enough for all to hear, “I have nothing good to say about her, so don’t ask me.”

“Don’t you feel guilty putting the mother of two little girls through this?”

Tim’s eyes seemed to blaze, his shoulders still held square, a desperate attempt to hold himself in a strong posture and not break down. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m not the one who caused this.”

His lower lip was trembling minutely, and Jason was pretty sure he hadn’t seen that level of hate in Tim’s eyes _ever_ , even recently. And that seemed to be warring with something else, which Jason suddenly realized was panic when Damian appeared, walking fast. 

He didn’t grab Tim, simply took up station by his side and starting the same sharp clip back. Tim matched it, back held straight like he’d taped it to a ruler.

He didn’t answer more questions.

“Goddamnit,” Jason managed. “They’re gonna eat him alive.”

Steph nodded silently. The court of public opinion mattered, unfortunately. Yes, Nancy might be convicted and Tim proved to be right according to a court of law, but if the public decided it was a miscarriage of justice?

Tim’s life as he knew it was over. He would be hated publically.

And Nancy seemed to know this. Or someone real clever was working with her in the PR department. Jason felt like he could cuss out Bruce, because goddamnit, if someone had just released some sort of statement besides Tim saying he didn’t give a fuck about the mother of two little girls, maybe they’d have more of a shot.

Bruce had probably been protecting his privacy or some shit, but that’d been an impossibility from the start.

They shoulda realized.

“Should we go talk to Tim?” Steph was looking at him, a lost expression.

“You’re asking _me?_ Hell if I know,” Jason responded. “Let’s just hope B isn’t a major ass and gets on his case about it. Cause we still haven’t got the Wizard to give that tin man a heart.”

Steph didn’t dispute that this time.

Jason really wished this was easily fixable. Wished Tim weren’t already high profile ish, had had a chance to tell his side before Nancy and her supporters went to work smearing him.

He bet that Fiona Gregg was just looking for a chance to promote her book. She looked exactly like the type who thought her oh so valuable insights were more important than a human being who would be destroyed by her quest. Who cared what happened to Tim so long as people listened to her amazing discoveries about human nature, right?

“He’s sixteen. How the hell can anyone be on board with this?” Stephanie asked Jason, though it seemed more rhetorical.

“Probably cause Nancy’s pretty as hell and fits a very well-adjusted look and looks like a goddamn great mom, right? If she was ugly or old, they wouldn’t give a damn. Fuck. And that whole shit,” Jason murmured.

“What whole shit?”

“You know, only sweet virginal women can be raped or whatever?” Jason replied. “It’s a thing. No one gives a shit about men or sex workers or ugly people or bitchy people or so on. They just don’t.” He frowned. “Not that it’s easy for the girls who’re believed or some shit, cause people are still shits about it, but…Tim’s gonna have a hell of a time.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Stephanie murmured.

“Yeah. It fucking is,” Jason agreed.

The thought that this was why Tim never went forward, that he’d known it could only turn out badly, sat heavily with Jason.

So, instead of thinking on that, he sat heavily next to Steph, and commanded, “Put on something stupid and cute. I’m sick of this shit.”

So she did.

And they were there for a bit, wanting to help Tim but not feeling safe to approach.

Jason figured they could trust Damian, a thing he never thought he’d say. But, the kid was doing okay—and they’d hear if something big happened.

That was the hope, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am getting back into the swing. I feel like I'm finally back to being me, and it's good. I got to practice shit on the mats in karate again a couple days ago, so I'm feeling good.
> 
> Tim, in this case, is dealing with a pretty concerted effort to smear him. This is not by accident or coincidence.
> 
> And the fact that Nancy's been crying for the cameras and he's acting standoffish and surly is not helping him at all.
> 
> Poor kiddo.
> 
> I hope this chap is okay. Up late on Midol.
> 
> Sorry for it taking so long, btw. It's been a hell of a time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim doesn't see a way to fix this.
> 
> Jason hopes he's wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...some kinda suicidal ideation. If that'll trigger you, ask me for a summary. :) Or for what parts to avoid.

The next smear against Tim had to do with his sexuality. Or rather, his having had sex at all. Or both.

Jason had found Tim again by then, had been allowed to be in a six foot radius while Damian gave him a look that promised extreme violence should he upset Tim.

Tim was quiet, on his tablet instead of his laptop, and wouldn’t look at Jason. If he’d been wearing glasses or some shit, Jason was sure he could have seen him mindlessly scrolling through the internet. Reading articles or god knew what on god knew what.

It made sense. Tim probably had a tendency to dissociate as a kid—hell, Jason had seen that kinda behavior from him even as a teen.

“Whatcha reading?” Jason asked. He probably shouldn’t have, cause Tim seemed to break out of a trance and look at him.

His mouth moved a moment soundlessly, and then he said, shortly, “Cancer in guinea pigs.”

“…why?” Jason couldn’t say that was a topic he would have chosen.

Tim shrugged. “Just ended up there.” His eyes went back to the tablet, scrolling down with his finger.

Damian was giving Jason a look like any more dumb questions would be answered with fists, so he didn’t ask something like that again. Cause, goddamn, he wasn’t the enemy here.

Instead, he watched Tim a moment. The kid was not frowning—in fact, the best description here would be ‘blank’ for his facial expression. His eyes were far away, and his mouth was shut, but not tightly. He just stared at the tablet and scrolled, poking at it every so often.

Then, all of a sudden, the color went out of his face and he dropped the tablet. Damian caught it, but the distress was clear on Tim’s face.

“What ha—“

“Get out!” Tim shouted at Jason, before he could finish the sentence. “Just get out!” His voice was bordering on panic, a bit shrill.

“Whoa, T—“

“He said out, so remove yourself!” Damian snarled. It was incredibly sudden, and Tim was shielding his face with his hand, clearly not wanting Jason to see him. Or how he was feeling.

And Jason kind of wanted to shout that he didn’t think less of him. That it didn’t matter to him, that he’d known so many people who’d been through similar things—on the streets, as Robin, even as the Red Hood—but shouting at Tim just wasn’t going to help.

“Goddamnit, Tim, I don’t give a fuck!”

Okay, so maybe he was going to shout. Impulse control had never been at one hundred percent with him.

He could see the way Damian bared his teeth, ready to fight him.

So he rushed on, “I mean I don’t give a fuck what happened. This lady’s a goddamn bitch, they both are, and I know you’re still you, no matter what. It doesn’t change things.”

Tim looked up at him, and grabbed the tablet from Damian, shoving it at him. “Tell me this doesn’t change things. Just tell me it doesn’t,” he dared, though his voice seemed to shake.

Jason turned the tablet so he could see it, and he could feel an angry burn grow in his chest. There, splashed across the page, was a picture of Tim—not terribly flattering, as had been the case of late—and the article begged the question, “When do Teen Fantasies Go Too Far?”

Apparently, the article claimed, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne had long nursed a crush on his nanny, the only woman he’d ever felt close to—and was now acting like a goddamn movie villain in trying to punish her for not having sex with him, given he was, after all, a virgin.

Another theory suggested he was actually homosexual and couldn’t differentiate between feelings towards a motherly figure (who had cared so kindly for him) and sexual feelings, given he was such a manchild.

‘Perpetual adolescence’ they described it, ignoring that Tim was indeed still an adolescent.

Jason just loved how all the titles were shit like ‘Wayne Heir’ and ‘Drake-Wayne’ rather than ‘Teenage Boy’ or anything along those lines. Like they could obscure the fact someone with such short stature and a babyface was not an adult.

Well…he didn’t have much of a babyface for his _actual_ age, but point was, there was no mistaking him for an adult.

He could see Tim seeming to shake, still pale. 

“What do you want to do about it?” Jason finally said, fighting to keep from exploding again. “We gotta do something. This is such bullshit.”

“Nothing.” Tim’s voice was quiet, and Damian looked at him sharply.

“What? Like, play it cool?” Jason was a bit confused. Tim always had a plan.

“No. I mean nothing.” Tim wouldn’t look at him, as he murmured, “This is unwinnable. There is no way out.”

And that set a chill in Jason’s bones. For Tim to say that, and apparently mean it…it was unreal. And it meant he probably had looked at every angle he could think of. Hell, this kid made some attempt at cloning his dead best friend, as well as using the goddamn Lazarus Pit.

If he said it was unwinnable, if he was giving up…

Jason didn’t know that there was hope. “Timmers, come on. This isn’t unwinnable. We’re gonna be with you on this.”

“This is irreparable. _I’m_ irreparable,” Tim said, voice shaking. He looked like he might cry, except that that would take effort he didn’t have the energy for.

“Whoa, fuck, Tim—look at me,” Jason said, a little shocked at Tim’s declaration. Tim managed to look vaguely at his face for a moment, but wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Fuck, Tim—you’re not irreparable. Whatever she did to you, that’s on her, not you. She’s the one who’s broken.”

Tim shook his head, hands fisting in his hair. “Just go away. Please.”

Jason got the feeling he wasn’t going to get through to Tim, and it kinda made him want to fucking shake him. But, instead, he moved to leave. He locked eyes with Damian, and he could see a sort of understanding there. A ‘I’m not going to let him harm himself’ sort of look. Which was fucked up, given Damian was ten and should have no fucking idea what was going on, but hey.

Things were what they were.

Jason left, and looked for Dick. Dick would have the best idea of what to do, he thought, and he didn’t want to spread the info to fucking everybody.

Dick was by himself, going through stretching routines. He didn’t seem to be focusing on them very much, and as always, his flexibility was astounding. Jason thought he might die if he stretched as far as Dick was now.

“Hey, Goldie.”

Dick looked up, stopping what he was doing. “What’s up? Is it Tim?”

“Wow, you really are a detective,” Jason mocked. He winced. He hadn’t meant to do that. “Yeah, it’s Tim.”

“Is he hurt?”

Jason sighed. “Well, you know about the fucking smear campaign, right?”

The way Dick’s jaw tightened said yes. “What are they saying now?”

“Literally anything they can. And…it’s kinda fucking working. Tim is so done with it. He said it’s ‘irreparable.’” Jason wasn’t certain how to relate this to Dick, but he figured Dick had done his share of motivational speeches to Tim, and would have some clue what to do.

But Dick’s face fell. “ _Tim_ said that?”

It sounded a little weird. A little less surprised than Jason would like, honestly. He glanced at Dick, and said, “Tim’s always talked to you, right? How big of a problem is this?”

Dick sighed. “It’s…he’s been having a hard enough time with everything else that’s happened. I mean…it’s not mine to share, okay? I already have betrayed his trust enough.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Hey. Fuckwad, if he does something ‘irreparable’ to himself, his privacy ain’t going to matter. I’m pretty fucking worried about what he’s gonna do now that he thinks there’s no way out. I mean, damn, Tim can always figure a way out.”

“You can’t take away his privacy just because you think he might do something. He didn’t want to tell you, so you don’t get to know,” Dick responded steadily, voice just a hint away from a challenge. 

Jason grumbled a little under his breath. He knew Dick was right—sort of. Like, he wanted to protect Tim. He could still remember the tiny child who was so goddamn scared and who relied on him to keep him safe. God, how could he really look at Tim again and not see that little kid?

“Then do something. Keep him safe.” Jason didn’t mean to almost growl it, but he _would not_ lose Tim over this.

There was something distant in Dick’s eyes. Jason didn’t like it. “I don’t think anything can keep Tim safe if he doesn’t want to be.”

And Jason really didn’t like that. He huffed. Tim was still only sixteen years old, right? There should be something they could do. But Jason knew caging him in was the absolute worst response—that would drive him to bad action. It would certainly drive Jason to make bad decisions.

Jason turned to leave anyway. “Fuck this shit.”

“I know.” Dick seemed to get what he meant.

They had to fix this. There had to be a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Wrote this over the past few days. Just got struck with inspiration and set to work.
> 
> And got to be sick at work. DX What is with me and getting sick lately? Good lord.
> 
> Also, totally know Tim's feeling. That's the worst feeling, like you can't strategize a way out of a horrible situation and the despair at being trapped in it just crushes you. That's how I felt at home when they got me diagnosed as psychotic and put me on heavy antipsychotics that made it impossible to function.
> 
> Good times.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was...near impossible to write. I apologize for the delay. This is the last chapter.

Tim wasn’t okay.

He just fucking wasn’t.

And it felt like Bruce was doing absolutely jack shit about it all. There was nothing Jason wanted to do more than grab him by the goddamn pointy ears and smash his face into a wall. Or a vase, or a computer screen, which he kept tapping away in front of like his fucking son wasn’t about to probably pull an honorable death gambit or some shit.

Cause Tim would. That little fucker would, had already risked his life more than one would think possible for a teenage kid of his intelligence. Even Jason wouldn’t put his own life at that much risk that often.

He shuddered at that thought.

Cass was watching him now. She was kinda creepy, but not in the way that Superman was. Superman felt like he could see through you. Cass felt like she could see _into_ you.

Jason didn’t see Cass much. They really didn’t see eye to eye. Still, he nodded at her and got back to brooding.

What? He was too being useful, he was trying to figure out what the fuck to do.

“Have you seen Tim?” Dick broke Cass’s unbreaking stare, cutting through the rising tension like a knife.

Jason looked to Dick. “He’s with Damian. I saw them like twenty minutes ago.”

Dick’s jaw twitched a little. Cass was already standing up. “Damian said that Bruce had needed him to do something and he told Tim to come to you.”

“Me or...” Jason’s heart was already starting to sink, and fuck that kid, he’d better not be screwing around with them, because Jason’s skin was already breaking out in a cold sweat and he’d fucking murder Tim for real if he thought this was fucking okay because really how could he expect them to fucking deal with this?

Cass broke into Jason’s thoughts, moving towards the doorway. “He’s gone.”

Dick ran a hand through his hair, stress obvious in the muscles of his face, the tightening of even his goddamn forehead. His face was like a balloon pulled tight over something hard.

Jason followed Cass immediately. She’d know. She’d better fucking know where Tim would go or what to do, cause she had the only direction right now.

Damian came rushing in then, demanding, “What have you done with him?! What have you done with Tim?!”

“Cool it, tiny britches, we’re trying to find out where the fuck he went,” Jason said, more calmly than he felt. 

“This is a trick,” Damian growled, “You’re trying to force him again--”

“No trick,” Cass promised, a hand resting gently on Damian’s shoulder. She was surprisingly patient with Damian, cause Jason knew he would have rather shoved him aside and continued on in a lot of ways.

“Where would Tim go? Where would he escape to?” Dick said, businesslike tone ruined by the catch in his voice.

“His parents’ home?” Jason guessed.

“The Superboy’s home,” Damian guessed as well, but with more certainty than Jason.

“An alone place,” Cass murmured, “Or a place without us.”

“Those are the same, you--”

“Dami, Cass’s right. He probably wants to get away from us so he can—can do what he wants. God knows what that is--”

“Dick, I think you’re smart enough to fucking figure it out,” Jason snapped. “Goddamnit, don’t tiptoe here! Tim’s gonna off himself and you’re standing here tryna make it sound polite!”

Dick swallowed hard. “We don’t know that--”

“We have to assume it’s the fucking case!” Jason snapped back. “Worst case scenario and all that shit, now get on board and we need to find that fucking shit!”

Dick nodded wordlessly, mouth pinched tightly.

Jason’s brain was buzzing a little, the certainty of ‘he’s already done it, you missed it, dead under your watch’ trying to take over. He had to remember to swallow.

“Cass--”

“Tracker?”

Dick shook his head at Cass. “No. He wouldn’t have one, at all.”

The irrational thought struck Jason that this was how it felt to have a child missing, but Tim wasn’t his fucking kid and he needed to fucking focus.

“Would Steph know? Would she know where he’d hide if he was gonna—“

“No, probably not, he went downhill while she was gone,” Dick replied quickly, “Bruce’s gotta be keeping tabs—“

Steph landed on the couch suddenly, flicking on the large TV. Her eyes said she was desperately hoping she was wrong, that someone had been teasing her. She was silent.

“—eaking News: Drake-Wayne, recently accused of fabricating sexual abuse claims, stands precariously on top of the old Drake Industries Tower. We have a correspondent on the ground: Cheryl?”

“Blake, I’m here and I’ve got to tell you, this is not what we expected today.” A blonde woman with large lashes stood at the bottom of the building, in a thick crowd of reporters. “As you know, we were here to hear Ms. Walmesley give a statement, and Mr. Drake-Wayne is supposed to keep his distance…”

Jason wanted to demand why the fuck Tim would have to keep his distance, there was no restraining order, if anything Nancy was supposed to keep her distance. But the camera panned up, and there was Tim, in presumably a suit, at the top of the building and holding onto what looked like a small flagpole for support.

“…but there he is, on top of the building. It almost looks like…”

It was like the idiot reporter couldn’t fathom that Tim would jump. That this was a suicide she was about to see.

Like she just couldn’t conceive that they’d pushed a teen boy too far.

But then a noise, a loud click, was heard. “Good evening,” came Tim’s almost dead voice. 

It was loud. It was crisp, impossible to ignore. “I lost my cell phone for a few days. Before all of this blew up.”

What the fuck. What the hell was Tim even talking about? That was it, he wasn’t just traumatized, he’d snapped.

He could see Dick was calculating how long it would take to reach DI Tower, but it was probably too long. Still, the way Cass was watching, head tilted to the side, gave him hope this wasn’t what it looked like.

“It’s such a small thing, but, it’s powerful. It has a calculator, a voicemail box, a recording device…anyway, you said Ms…you said she was here to give a statement. Well, she’s already given me one, and I think it’s more powerful than anything she has to offer for you guys. I am special, you know.”

There was a small boop noise, and Tim started reading aloud, “’Timmy, you might think this is something you can fight, but you can’t. Just, please, give up. You know I was only trying to take care of you, even if I wasn’t perfect.’ Text number one.”

There was the sound of someone hitting the ground. Maybe a fake faint, but everyone else was silent.

“Text number two, sent about fifteen minutes later. ‘Timmy, this isn’t funny. We both know how things really went down, and you need to let this go. Drop the charges, and I’ll leave you alone.’

Text number three, sent ten minutes after that. ‘Timmy, you have family, don’t you? Could you imagine if someone was doing this to them? If someone was unjustly dragging their name through the mud for something they did in their past? Could you imagine if Bruce Wayne, was accused of sexually abusing you?’

Text number four. Not five minutes later. ‘Just respond already. We have all the evidence we need to put Brucie away. Anyone could see that he’d do something like that, it isn’t hard to figure out that that’s where your problems are coming from.’

I replied, ‘You don’t have evidence. It didn’t happen.’

Text number five. Thirty seconds later, she is a fast texter, isn’t she? ‘You’re a lying little shit, of course we have evidence. We can put him away any time.’”

Tim stopped. “So, one has to wonder: can we trust this teenage boy on top of a building reading aloud texts? It’s not solid on its own, of course. Voice mail, however, is much harder to fake.”

The voice, Nancy’s, rang loud and clear. ‘Timmy, answer my text. I know you saw it. Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on and answer. Or maybe I’ll have to turn you over my knee. I did a lot of work raising you, and it was not really worth it for all the things I’ve had to go through for it. Do you understand? It’s only fair that you stop this. Why should anyone have to suffer for mistakes made in the distant past? Do you really hate me that much? You used to kiss me on both cheeks before bed every night, do you remember that? If you had any soul at all, you’d let this go.’

Jason was gaping a little. This woman couldn’t be that stupid…right? She couldn’t have possibly sent all those messages. Why the fuck would she think she wouldn’t be caught?

“Second message,” Tim announced, voice a little choked.

Nancy’s voice rang out again. It was angrier, more frenetic. ‘If you think that was abuse, when you obviously liked it, just imagine what we could really do to you. I promise you, you won’t like it this time. Timmy, answer your phone. If you don’t want your family destroyed, like you’re trying to do to mine, you will answer this phone. I’ve got friends like you wouldn’t even dream of, and they will take you down.’

Tim was quiet a moment, but before the crowd could fill the area with sound, he started speaking again.

“So. This is what evidence I have to offer. A statement, I guess.”

Cass stood up and ran.

“Liar!” Came the shriek from the crowd, “It’s lies, you made it up, you copied my voice!”

Nancy. Jason could see Tim’s eyes darting towards her for a moment, sort of, from the turn of his body, and then he turned back.

“This is something I wanted buried in my past. But I know that’s what you wanted too, and that’s impossible now. Whatever happens to you, I don’t really give a fuck anymore. I hope I don’t ever see you again.”

That was when the alarm seemed to catch up with rest of them, exactly what this sounded like: a suicide note.

They ran at that point, not catching the next part. 

Jason was on his motorcycle, Steph hopped on behind him in the split second before he began roaring down the road.

He was sure the others were following, that Cass was already on her way there.

His forehead was cold, his stomach icy and in knots. Tim couldn’t do this, not to them, not after everything he’d lived through and they’d learned about him. Not after Jason had fucking attached to the little fucker, okay?

But Jason willed everything to focus.

And banished the thought of Tim, tiny little Tim, convulsing on the back of this same motorcycle.

He’d saved his life once. He could only pray he’d do it again.

DI tower stretched into the sky before them as he rounded a corner, weaving through traffic.

A brief glance told him he could still see a small, small figure at the top of the tower. His heartbeat seemed to match his words.

_Don’t jump, don’t jump, don’t jump_ \--

The roar of his motorcycle meant, however, Tim fell soundlessly. Steph’s shrill scream pierced his head, as he surged forward, watching the small, black-clad figure drop.

It didn’t take long. Falling never did.

Jason couldn’t swallow, could barely breathe, as he pulled up to the edge of the crowd and shoved his goddamn way through. The people moved like reeds.

There was screaming all around him, and—and a black figure on the pavement, cloth splayed--

Cass. It was _Cass_.

As Black Bat, cradling Tim close. He seemed to have passed out entirely, pale and limp, but still alive-- there was blood streaking down his forehead, but that was definitely not a hit-the-pavement impact wound.

Jason thought he might faint.

Steph, being in civilian clothes, rushed forward, grabbing hold of Tim and pleading with him to be okay. It was jarring to Jason too, to see Tim like this as a civilian, not as Red Robin.

“He’s---he’s not to be within twenty feet of me--” came a weak, weak voice, as paramedics and police came through for Tim.

Jason would have decked Nancy himself, her pale face and stupidly self-concerned look making him wish unspeakable things, but a paramedic snapped, “He’s no danger to you, ma’am, get out of the way!”

They had him strapped into a board _fast_ , and Jason was familiar with how efficient paramedics were, but somehow he was astounded this time. Dick made it about then, and managed to jump into the ambulance with them after explaining very briefly that he was the older brother.

“His name’s Timothy, he’s sixteen, he’s an emancipated minor--”

The doors shut, only Tim’s pale foot among the sheets visible for that last second.

–

The wonderful thing about the media: the bottom line matters most.

Whatever will receive the most clicks will be chosen as the media circus of the day.

Also, being sued for defamation by someone with more than deep enough pockets affects the bottom line pretty badly. Especially given that there was no way they would win such a case.

Jason understood that it, in essence, resulted in Wayne Corp. and Drake Industries acquisitions of a number of properties and rights in the settlements. It also meant that everyone was quick to backpedal on their statements, releasing much more sympathetic takes on the ‘Drake-Wayne Case’.

Bruce had explained, after Dick had decked him for letting Tim leave, that there had been enemies of Wayne Corp involved in bolstering Nancy’s case. That the hope had been to affect their stock numbers and force Tim and Bruce out of their positions. That other groups had easily latched on to the cause, being misled, and therefore overzealous.

Such as people who really wanted to push their ideas and books.

Tim was okay. He’d hit his head on the way down, but Cass had protected him from serious harm.

Dr. Frank Walmesley turned up at a local hospital. He’d drifted into a coma, and then passed on in his sleep a week later.

Tim seemed to feel guilty. Jason knew he should feel guilty too, but he didn’t.

Nancy, on the other hand, with all her support evaporated, plead guilty. It was a more subdued Nancy in court, and Jason could almost take pity on her, with her head down and her face clearly speaking of her shame and grief.

He could almost feel pity that she’d fucked up her life and lost her husband so fast.

Another side of him felt that it was fucking deserved, and he knew that side was one he sort of didn’t want to face.

Strand Technologies Incorporated had two new openings.

And Tim...had a chance. To put it behind him, for real.

It wasn’t magic sunshine healing. Instead, it was tears and late nights and long talks or long silences. It was working through all of their issues.

Including Bruce. Including acknowledging his control issues and working _with_ Tim through this.

And Bruce would _never_ fix that completely, Jason knew that. Fucking pigs would colonize the moon first. And then segregate by ear length and have a civil war. But he was kinda trying.

And Jason was...actually a fixture in the family now. He really hadn’t been before.

Tim’s seventeenth birthday came and went, as did the court date, and things just...settled a bit. There was no fiercer ally in the field for Tim than Damian now, and vice versa.

There were still arguments. There were still times Tim exploded at them, or told them precisely what he thought of their attempts to help.

But he was alive, and that made him forgivable. 

It was not like all of it had never happened, but, not entirely to Jason’s surprise, it was like it softened over time. Like it was an accepted part of their family history, and not an evil thing that had to overhang everything.

Tim finally got to leave it behind, like he’d wanted to, without the fear of it being dug up by his family.

And life went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I feel my approach to this story is drastically different now, as compared to when I started it. And I've been tweaking this for months, since I got the first concussion of 2016 (I got two this past year).
> 
> I hope this is a satisfactory ending. I figured it was better to get it up here than to nitpick over it forever and let my anxiety and my forgotten plan leave me frozen on it.
> 
> I hope you don't mind the more epilogue ending. I feel like it was high time Tim got to lay this ghost to rest, and it's high time this story was finished. It is long enough, and gone on long enough.
> 
> Thank you for your comments and thoughts and all the things you shared with me on this story. It meant a lot, since I started this story when I was in a very dark place, and posting it helped me get through it.
> 
> :) (I hope anyone's still around to know I posted a chapter. DX I am sorry!)


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